


Tissue Paper Wings

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bar Room Brawl, Canon Compliant, Echo and Narcissus, F/M, Just Add Cats, Loneliness, Reflections and Echoes, Reincarnation, Scars, Second Chances, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: Olenna had called her last night and told her the big news. They were casting for the pilot of a police procedural drama series, Keeper. She'd given Brienne a brief overview of the part and sent her a sample of the script.Helen Oath was a cop with a heart of gold. Naïve yet hardworking, she'd been top of her class at the academy and one of the youngest women to ever make homicide detective. She was eager to learn from her new, more experienced partner, Sergeant Arthur Keeper.Unfortunately, she'd die at the end of the first episode to reawaken the jaded cop's zest for justice and remind him of his duty to serve his city and defend the innocent.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 142
Kudos: 165
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeta_Mei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeta_Mei/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy my take on your Echo and Narcissus prompt, Zeta_Mei! <3

PROLOGUE

Jaime was born looking into a mirror. His reflection was beautiful and golden, mesmerizing. He couldn't look away, fixated as he was on his twin, his other half, his soulmate. "We are one person in two bodies," Cersei would say. "No one else matters." 

As time passed, Jaime only became more convinced of the veracity of her litany. He could never bear to be separated from his twin. Even as children, they would sleep entwined. 

All it took was Cersei coming to him in Eel Alley and making love to him all night to earn his undying loyalty. He was ready to give up his birthright and dedicate his life to his sister. Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. Love sang from his lips, honor whispered in his heart.

Septa Roelle put a mirror in Brienne's hand long before she'd even flowered. “You’ll find truth in your looking glass," she would say. "Not on the tongues of men.” She was freakish big and mannish, the septa impressed on her. Brienne was a slow child so she needed these things pointed out to her in order to best prepare her for her future. 

As time passed, Brienne only became more convinced of the veracity of her litany. The jeering laughter of the young lords in a ballroom rang in her ears. "Brienne the Beauty," they called her, and she realized she was the ugliest girl alive. A great lumbering beast. 

All it took was Renly Baratheon coming to her rescue and dancing with her to earn her undying loyalty. She was ready to give up her birthright and dedicate her life to King Renly. Tarth seemed a small price to pay to be near him always. Honor sang from her lips, love whispered in her heart.

Words were wind, people said. But if they echoed loudly enough, they could touch you, wound you, reshape you. 

Just as a savage windstorm could uproot trees, blow out windows, tear off roofs, even decimate buildings in their entirety, a cacophony of abuse could pierce your hide, bruise your heart, and scar your thoughts. 

If you let the wind batter you long enough, it could even consume your mind and infiltrate your soul. 

Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man Without Honor.

Sow in Silk. Brienne the Beauty. Freak.

Jaime was despised, Brienne ridiculed. Jaime smirked and flaunted his stained cloak for all to see. Brienne shut her mouth and let her sword arm speak for her.

A shadow tore Renly from her grasp as war tore Jaime from Cersei's. Swearing allegiance to Lady Catelyn led Brienne to a filthy cell and an even filthier prisoner.

An oath bound them together at first, uniting them. Although, in the early days of their acquaintance, they were anything but united. Mockery on his part, disdain on hers, kept them circling one another warily until they crossed swords on a bridge. 

Ambushed and taken hostage by a common enemy, they forged an uneasy alliance. A clever lie spared Brienne, but cost Jaime his hand. She willed him to live and was rewarded with a plain truth. 

During his confession, shame and pride battled for supremacy, but it was a war that couldn't be won. Brienne silently pledged to safeguard his greatest secret, the vow's tendrils ensnaring her as surely as the embrace that kept his head above water.

"Goodbye, Ser Jaime," Brienne said to him at Harrenhal, the audible respect in her voice rendering him speechless. 

It was her turn to be struck dumb when Jaime bade her farewell on the Kingsroad. "Goodbye, Brienne," he said, and the familiarity was almost her undoing.

In between those two goodbyes, Jaime returned for her, shielded her with his body from a bloodthirsty bear like a knight would a fair maiden in a song, and armed and armored her for her quest. 

He gifted her with a priceless blade and when she honored him by naming it Oathkeeper, he almost thought he recognized himself in her for the barest moment. But she left before he could be sure.

He returned to his mirror image who grimaced and cringed away from his imperfect reflection. He had been away too long and had marred their sacred whole by losing a hand. 

He'd lose a lot more than that before the year was out. A king, a nephew, a son, a squirt of seed. A brother. A father. And yet they kept telling him House Lannister won this war.

Brienne let her oath to Lady Catelyn and to Ser Jaime be her guide. But after she found and lost the youngest Stark girl only to be rejected by the eldest, doubt clouded her mind. She wasn't a knight, she was just a maid in armor incapable of living up to her vows.

Unbidden, their thoughts drifted to the other over the years apart. The same wistful yearning that gripped Jaime when he spied a glimpse of Tarth from the ship deck was experienced by Brienne every time she grasped the lion hilt of her sword. He kept her going. He'd entrusted her with his honor and she would not fail him. 

Her string of bad luck seemed endless, but then the tide turned. She avenged Renly, rescued Sansa, and reunited her with her brother. When she knelt before Lady Sansa in the snow and swore to serve her, she was overcome with emotion. She'd wished Jaime could've been there to see their oath fulfilled. 

It was strange to have achieved her goal. She'd found purpose with a sword in her hand and a vow on her lips. And now success. She should be satisfied, content, and yet, in the months that followed she couldn't help feeling like something was still missing. Like she was still waiting for something more, something beyond her reach.

In a red tent, they reunited for a short time. At the Dragonpit, they conversed even more briefly.

"It will always be yours," he promised at Riverrun, and he looked at her so tenderly that she could almost swear he was referring to something other than her sword. The glint of gold was a beacon in the dark of night and when she lifted her hand to wave farewell in turn, she ached for him as he ached for her.

"Fuck loyalty," she spat in King's Landing, and it was like she'd slapped him. Woken him up. Like he'd been drowning all this time and only just now broken the surface and was gasping for breath.

Cracks had been growing in his mirror for years, if he was honest. But the glossy pane began to splinter after the wildfire, Tommen, and now this ridiculous double-cross. 

He didn't recognize his sister anymore. They weren't the same, they weren't. It was the first time he'd even considered such a traitorous thought. But when she threatened to kill him, it was as though he looked upon a stranger.

He rode away from King's Landing without a single backward glance.

He forsook his twin sister and wielded a twin sword alongside Brienne in the north. And if there were times they both caught a flash of the other's reflection in the flat of their blade, neither confessed to it.

During his trial, Brienne planted herself between him and his doom as surely as he'd planted himself between her and a bear years before. She defended him to the Dragon Queen and the Starks, vouched for him, named him honorable, and he felt his throat constrict, his blood sing.

The way Jaime glanced at her when asked why he had come north, the way he echoed her words from the Dragonpit struck Brienne dead-center. She could've sworn she felt the tug of a thread connecting them, drawing her to her feet and pulling her forward to his side. 

The relief that washed over her when her testimony spared his life drove the breath from her lungs. As she exited the room, she barely mustered the nerve to hold his gaze a scant moment before turning away.

Jaime apologized to the boy, now young man, who he'd crippled with a single push. For the first time he was glad that the hand that'd shoved Bran Stark was no more. 

The thought soothed him. Lulled him into almost believing he could sever that part of himself completely, the wicked and the unworthy. Even Bran's warning of there being no after didn't faze him. 

He felt like a weight had been lifted. Like he could breathe freely for the first time in years, see clearly for perhaps the first time ever. He'd never known such clarity. Such purpose.

This strange euphoria clung to him in the north like a second skin. Nothing had ever felt so right as when he knighted Brienne. He looked into her eyes and thought: _This, this is who we are_.

Fighting beside her in battle, him saving her, her saving him, it was as if they were one. He was aware of her at all times, and she seemed to sense the same visceral connection. It was like he could anticipate her every movement. Like a dance. _This, this is who we are._

Then they survived and he beamed at her from across the table during the feast. He followed her to her room. Fumbled with the laces of his shirt like an eager green boy. And when they disrobed, when they kissed, when they fell into bed together, he thought: _This, this is who we are._

Brienne had never been happier. She couldn't even describe the feeling, unfamiliar as she was with it. Like the first shoots of green poking through the snow, this fragile bloom of warmth stirred something inside her she'd lost long ago. 

Jaime had come north. He'd asked to serve under her on the battlefield. He'd knighted her. 

She would not soon forget the look on his face. The timbre of his voice when he urged her to kneel. The way his hand wavered slightly before he regripped the hilt as if he were as affected by bestowing this honor upon her as she was accepting it. 

She rose a knight of the seven kingdoms with a song in her heart. She looked into his eyes and thought: _I see you, you see me._

Fighting beside him in battle, her saving him, him saving her, it was as if they were one. She was aware of him at all times, and he seemed to sense the same visceral connection. It was like she could anticipate his every movement. Like a dance. _I see you, you see me._

Then they survived and she beamed at him from across the table during the feast. She opened her door to him. Wiped her sweaty hand on her thigh like a blushing maiden. And when they disrobed, when they kissed, when they fell into bed together, she thought: _I see you, you see me._

It was only after she turned away to sleep that Jaime felt regret, guilt, shame creep back in. 

Who was he to think he was Brienne's reflection? He'd been delusional to even entertain the notion. She was honorable, brave, the best person he'd ever met. She was a hero straight out of legend. A warrior maiden with the purest heart...and he'd taken even that from her. He'd tainted her. Defiled her. 

He wasn't the man Brienne believed him to be. The man he'd tricked her into trusting. He could perform good deeds when the mood struck him, sure, but they were few and far between. He hadn't lived his life by any code Brienne would condone. 

If Brienne was a mirror, she was a glimpse into the past. Of the youth he'd once been who dreamt of noble quests and courageous feats and glittering knighthood. She was everything he wished he could've been, everything he tried so hard to reflect in her presence. And he'd fooled her. 

To Brienne, he was the honorable knight, but to his sister, he was the ruthless Kingslayer. And he knew in his heart which man he truly was. Wanting to be the man that existed in Brienne's eyes didn't change the fact that he was Cersei's reflection in every way that counted. Hadn't he once thought that if he were a woman, he'd be Cersei?

He'd done despicable things. Monstrous. His paltry chivalric whims could never erase his sins. He'd broken his sacred vows in more ways than one, cuckolded his king, crippled an innocent boy, and that was all long before he even met Brienne. 

Atonement wasn't possible for one such as he. Bran had known it. There were no Afters for men like him. He didn't _deserve_ an After. Especially not with the likes of Brienne of Tarth.

He intended to let her down gently the next morning. He'd reaffirm the profound depth of his regard for her before broaching their innate incompatibility, their divergent futures. 

But then she awoke just before dawn, her beautiful blue eyes fluttering open, and she smiled softly as if she were still dreaming. When reality set in, she yanked the covers to her chin and blushed hotly as if he hadn't kissed every inch of her just last night. She'd appeared on the precipice of delivering a preemptive strike of her own and dismissing their romantic interlude as a mistake. 

What else could he do, but draw her close and kiss her doubts and fears away? 

Each morning Brienne expected to wake in bed alone and for Jaime to have fled in the dead of night to turn south and return home. And each morning he was still there, she let herself hope that he might stay. 

There were moments during the day when she suspected his ghosts were haunting him, dragging him under. When the distance between them seemed insurmountable even though he was within arm's reach. 

But then he'd smile at her over dinner in the way only he could, deliberately brush his hand against hers as they passed in the corridor, show up at her room each night and take her into his arms with passion and tenderness. 

Gradually, she let herself believe that though his past called to him, he'd chosen her to be his future. 

What else could she do, but draw him close and kiss his doubts and fears away?

Every day he told himself he was going to slip away while Brienne was on duty protecting her precious Starks, but he never made it very far. The mere memory of the light in her eyes, the affection in her touch, stopped him dead in his tracks. He wanted to be here, he wanted to be with her, shouldn't that be enough? 

Under her influence, perhaps he could become the man she thought he was. And it wouldn't be a deception because in time the man she cared for would be the reality. 

Then a certain thrice-damned sellsword barreled into the Lannister brothers' lives once more and a raven bearing an ominous message arrived on his heels. 

"I knew you were fucking her," Bronn crowed. "A pair of tall blond toffs. Must be like looking in the mirror."

Somehow this remark burrowed under his skin in a way his sister's betrayal didn't. Because that was the thing, wasn't it? Brienne wasn't his mirror. He'd left his mirror, smashed though it was, in King's Landing.

A dark conviction slithered up his spine, clawed his throat and poisoned his breath: _I cannot live while Cersei dies. We will die together as we were born together._

Brienne hadn't used her true voice in years...not really. On the rare occasion she spoke up, hers was the voice of a soldier echoing commands. Never the voice of the woman she was beneath her shell of armor.

Duty had bred a formality that suited her place in the world. She'd been in service to all of the people who mattered most to her. (Except Pod who served her.)

Deference, courtesy, and obedience were all that was expected of her in conversation.

Ever since they'd forged a truce, she'd afforded Jaime the same respect. Always been careful to call him 'Ser.' Always cloaked so much of what she'd said to him in notions of nobility and justice, appealing to his sense of honor and reminding him of his oaths. 

She'd been a knight to him long before he knighted her. A comrade in arms. Rarely a woman. 

Perhaps in the split-second she'd lunged out of the water in Harrenhal's bathhouse and his eyes had fleetingly lingered on her naked form before falling away, he'd regarded her as a woman. Since he'd come to Winterfell, she'd felt that same recognition prick her skin. 

When he'd greeted her in the training yard and called her 'Lady Brienne' in a fond, teasing voice. When he'd scrambled to his feet as soon as she entered the room. When he'd pulled out her chair for her. 

They were all tiny courtly gestures another woman would've taken for granted. But they were gestures no one had ever bestowed on her before except in jest. 

Before the feast it'd been easy to dismiss such moments. After, she'd greedily collected thousands of moments of Jaime not only recognizing her as a woman, but intimately lavishing attention on her bare form, worshiping her with his hand, mouth, and cock.

Her true voice, the one that wasn't borne of duty, but personal expression, rose to the surface of her thoughts during the weeks that passed with Jaime behind closed doors. 'I love you' stung the tip of her tongue before she forcibly swallowed it down. 

It wasn't until her worst fears were realized and she awoke alone in bed, ventured into a snowy courtyard to see Jaime preparing to leave, that she finally opened her mouth.

Her voice was low and clear as she took his face between her palms and spoke truly for the first time in ages. 

"You're not like your sister. You're not. You're better than she is. You're a good man and you can't save her. You don't need to die with her. Stay here. Stay with me. Please. Stay." The plea was torn from her throat, torn from her heart, torn from her soul. 

It was the truest thing she ever said. The most vulnerable, and he cast her words aside as if they meant nothing to him. As if her voice meant nothing to him.

When he came north, Jaime had thought he'd shattered the mirror that'd dictated his entire life. Maybe he had, but a shard had remained and it cut both he and Brienne with its jagged edges as he severed their bond, revealing her distorted view of him to be the false reflection it was.

"You think I'm a good man?" he asked before listing off all of the crimes he'd committed in his sister's name.

Brienne inhaled deeply, trying to hold back her tears as he chanted, "For Cersei," as if it were a rallying cry.

"She's hateful...and so am I."

Words were wind, they said, but this parting shot uprooted Brienne, sucked all the life out of her. She wept as he mounted his horse and rode away, leaving her all alone. 

Jaime returned to King's Landing. He told his brother he never really cared much for the million people in the city, innocent or otherwise. He told his sister, his mirror, his hateful reflection, "Nothing else matters. Only us," before the ceiling gave way and the cavern collapsed on them. Both statements were echoes, both were as true as he made them.

Brienne accepted the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. From the moment her tears dried up in Winterfell, she became placid and still, held her breath, held her tongue. She never spoke another true word again. Just echoed the orders her king gave her. "Yes, your grace," she would say daily. "I will see it done."

Shedding the blue armor felt right. The Kingsguard armor transformed her into someone new, some _thing_ new. A dutiful, fearsome knight, not a person, never a woman. She finished Jaime's entry in the White Book, wrote of the man she'd seen when she looked at him instead of the man he believed himself to be in the end. Then she closed the book on that chapter of her life.

Oathkeeper remained on her hip, but she never grasped the hilt except to wield the blade. It was a weapon, nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

When Mrs. Tyrell approached her on the street, Brienne had still been reeling from the death of her father. She'd been lost and alone and wished to be anyone but herself. The Tyrell matriarch had answered her prayers.

Olenna called her singular, said being singular could pay very well indeed, and offered to be her agent on the spot. Brienne assumed she must be joking, but the shrewd little woman insisted that character actors were always in demand. She gave her her card and Brienne reluctantly agreed to visit her office the next day. 

The receptionist, a Ms. Ro Elle based on the engraved metal nameplate on her desk, looked her up and down with distaste then suggested there must have been a mix-up and she was in the wrong place. When Brienne tried to mumble that she had an appointment, the other woman sneered. 

"Cat got your tongue?" she snapped. "Don't waste my time. Either speak up or don't let the door hit you on the way out." 

Brienne had been about to beat a hasty retreat when someone cleared their throat behind her in an unmistakably authoritative manner. Olenna had witnessed the entire exchange and promptly fired the woman before ushering Brienne into her office. 

When she attempted to apologize, Olenna waved her off. "You did nothing wrong, my dear. If anything, you did me a favor. Curdled milk belongs in the trash."

Brienne remained unconvinced that any show would hire someone who looked like her, and the snide receptionist's less-than-flattering scrutiny of her only seemed to confirm her suspicions. But Olenna maintained that her unconventional height and breadth and _singular_ looks would serve her well on the big screen. 

She turned out to be right. Brienne continued her freelance work as a transcriptionist to help pay the bills even as she soon began landing bit parts in TV shows and movies with Olenna's assistance. 

Her father would've keeled over at the thought of his timid wallflower of a daughter who'd feared public speaking above all else going into acting. But this was different. The moment she donned the costume, she wasn't hideous, gigantic, awkward Brienne Tarth anymore, she was someone else.

Still hideous, gigantic, and awkward, to be sure. There was no getting away from that. But the operative phrase was 'someone else.' The lure of vanishing inside a role, escaping in plain sight, was indescribable. Tempting beyond belief.

The truth was she felt more comfortable in someone else's skin than she did her own. Camouflage was her armor. And her script was her sword. They kept her safe. Protected her from the unknown.

Everything that happened on camera was spelled out. Preordained. Her character was supplied with lines, direction, motivation. 

There was no uncertainty, no confusion, no nasty surprises. No rug being pulled out from under her. No twist ending that might disturb her equilibrium.

If a cruel word were to be lobbed at her or a violent confrontation was looming, she always had advance notice. And she always knew exactly what to say, precisely what to do, in any given situation.

Even if her character was set up to fail, as was usually the case, there was a comfort in knowing how it would all play out. And in faithfully serving that purpose.

Success was measured by her ability to echo the script. Her ability to capture the essence of what was on the page and bring it to life.

Her castmates left her alone on set. Assumed she was method and that's why they never heard a peep out of her when the cameras weren't rolling. 

Of course, they thought that. She was far too large and angry-looking to be painfully shy. Shyness was for delicate creatures, not hulking beasts like her. 

It didn't help that she played a ruthless soldier here, a hypercompetitive athlete in the throes of roid rage there. In addition, she had the monopoly on playing bloodthirsty monsters of all kinds. (A giantess, werewolf, centaur, zombie, troll, and alien with tentacles, to date.) The last role she booked had been Android Assassin #4. 

All of them were bit parts, most of them villainous in nature. 

But for once, she was up for a different kind of role. Olenna had called her last night and told her the big news. They were casting for the pilot of a police procedural drama series, Keeper. She'd given Brienne a brief overview of the part and sent her a sample of the script. 

Helen Oath was a cop with a heart of gold. Naïve yet hardworking, she'd been top of her class at the academy and one of the youngest women to ever make homicide detective. She was eager to learn from her new, more experienced partner, Sergeant Arthur Keeper. 

Unfortunately, she'd die at the end of the first episode to reawaken the jaded cop's zest for justice and remind him of his duty to serve his city and defend the innocent.

Brienne was surprised they weren't looking for some pretty young thing to play the tragic part, but 'unattractive yet distinctive face' and 'sturdy build' were right there in black and white on the casting breakdown. Followed by: 'Helen Oath has weathered storms and emerged stronger for it. She's a force of nature!'

Brienne was thrilled by the prospect. Up until then she'd played brutish and violent roles, been a mindless savage at worst, an emotionless robot at best. 

If she was able to swing it, she'd get to portray a sympathetic character that possessed both a brain _and_ a heart for the first time. She'd actually get to be human in this. Get to have some kind of personality beyond HULK SMASH!

She did some research on the showrunners and was less than impressed by what she discovered. She'd seen a couple flicks from the Kraken Greyjoy duo before and was not overly optimistic that the series would get the greenlight, let alone last beyond a season. 

Euron and Theon Greyjoy, the creators and executive producers of Keeper, were total dudebros who were infamous for gravitating toward flashy special effects, white male pathos, and grim cynicism at the expense of delivering solid storytelling.

Knowing who was at the helm now, everything fell into place. _Of course_ , Helen Oath was slated to die at the end of episode one. _Of course_ , they'd fridged her to saddle the lead with manpain and set him off on his quest to regain his lost honor. 

What was worse in the Greyjoys' books, Brienne wondered, that Helen was female, ugly, or genuinely a good person (which was presumably code for boring to their target male audience)? 

Being named something as wholesome and unapologetically earnest as Oath had probably been the death knell for her. After all, who'd tune in to see nobility of character and general decency on display each week? 

All of that didn't mean Brienne didn't want the role with every fiber of her being. Because she did, with a fierceness that surprised even her. 

Helen deserved to be done justice, to be fleshed out, to transcend being just the convenient catalyst for stupid Arthur Keeper, who quite frankly was a damn cipher with wafer-thin characterization. Helen had more character in her pinky finger than Arthur did in his entire cardboard cut-out, audience-approved body.

Brienne was so nervous on her way to the audition that it barely registered when she bumped into someone on the street. She kept her head down and flapped her hands in a vaguely apologetic way before striding on without chancing a glance in the direction of the unlucky soul she'd jostled. 

She kept reminding herself she had the dialogue down pat. Memorization always came easily to her. It was peeling back the emotional layers that was more challenging. And this was the first time she'd have to actually show range.

She wanted this part so badly she could taste it which only made her more likely to bomb the audition. She was too inside her own head. She needed to not be herself to succeed. To inhabit Helen Oath's confidence and heroic outlook, not get bogged down in her own ambitions and fears.

The other actresses at the cattle call differed in height and weight. 'Sturdy' covered a wide variety of body types. All they had in common was their age - mid 20's - and they each had a face only a mother could love. 

Although on second glance, a couple enterprising women had done their damnedest to sneak in under the wire, attempting to hide their attractiveness by giving themselves a dramatic make-under. They hadn't quite managed it, as far as Brienne was concerned. But that probably only meant they'd get the role. 

Brienne had just taken a seat when a man barreled in the door after her. She recognized him straightaway. 

Golden mane. Dancing green eyes. Signature square jawline. Tall, broad shoulders, wicked smile.

He could only be Jaime Lannister, internationally acclaimed model, universal heartthrob, and Westeros' most eligible bachelor three years running. 

He'd shot to fame in his twenties doing various ad campaigns for all the high-end brands. She might've respectfully perused a few layouts of his photoshoots over the years. Up until recently he'd been the face of Kingslayer, the obscenely expensive cologne. 

Who could forget that commercial where he emerged from a wall of green wildfire in nothing but a low-slung sword belt? (There'd been some strategic blurring around his nether regions to protect his modesty, such as it was.) He'd drawn his sword and a column of pale blue flames had engulfed the blade, flickering over his godlike physique, as he made bedroom eyes and smoldered at the camera.

She might've watched it once or twice or a few dozen times, who could say? 

What nudity and a fiery sword had to do with cologne was anyone's guess, but it was damn effective advertising.

He'd been in a motorcycle accident last year, but she hadn't known it'd been so serious until she was faced with the long jagged scar that bisected his right cheek. It started at his temple then zigged across his cheekbone inward toward his nose before dropping vertical to skirt his mouth then zagging back along his jaw toward his ear. Fuck if it didn't merely enhance his appeal. 

He'd certainly aged like a fine wine. He must be nearing his late thirties by now, and yet he was more drop dead gorgeous than ever.

The young assistant plainly gawked at the sight of him before rushing over. "Mr. Lannister, there must have been some mistake. The auditions for the male lead are tomorrow...but wait, don't go anywhere," she said forcefully, pointing at the chair beside Brienne until he obeyed and took a seat with a jaunty salute.

Brienne stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his eye even though she could tell in her peripheral vision that he'd turned toward her. He chuckled softly after a minute and still she refused to engage. 

She needed to concentrate right now, not allow herself to be thrown off her game by the most beautiful person she'd ever seen in real life. 

He'd just opened his mouth, likely to make some asinine remark about why someone with her unfortunate features was at an audition, of all things, when the smitten assistant returned to flutter over him. 

"Mr. Lannister, you can come back and..." The redhead's gaze swept the room before focusing on Brienne. "Miss Tarth, why don't you join us?"

Brienne had a bad feeling about this. Especially when Jaime's grin only widened and he gestured for her to precede him.

They were led down a long corridor into a conference room. A middle-aged version of the assistant sat regally at one end of the table and signaled for them to take the chairs at the other end. 

Looking from one woman to the other, Brienne realized they could only be mother and daughter. Like the assistant, the seated woman was willowy with the same auburn hair, porcelain skin, and stately kind of air as if a crown belonged on her brow. The chair upon which she sat might as well have been a throne. 

"Sansa, that will be all," the woman said and then once the assistant exited, she turned to Brienne and introduced herself as Catelyn Stark, the casting director. Her polite smile faded when she shifted to address him.

"Jaime Lannister, it's been ages," Catelyn said, and it sounded to Brienne's untrained ear that she was insinuating that it hadn't been long enough in her opinion.

He smirked. "How's Lysa? Still stalking unsuspecting men?"

Catelyn was not amused. "I was sorry to hear about your accident," she said coolly.

A flicker of discomfort flitted across his face as Catelyn openly assessed his scar, but it vanished so quickly, Brienne assumed she'd only imagined it.

"We don't have you on the books for tomorrow, but since you're here, I don't see any shame in squeezing you in today. My daughter's a big fan of yours, you see," she paused and fixed him with an icy stare. "Don't worry, she'll grow out of it if I have anything to say about it. But she'll never forgive me if I don't at least let you read for me. And she's quite right...your scar only adds to your mystique. Before, you were far too much of a pretty boy to play anything more complex than some generic piece of arm candy. But now, this scar gives your face character, hints at a tragic past which just so happens to fit our titular hero's backstory. Imperfections are anathema to modeling, but they can really sell in acting. We just have to see if you have the chops for it."

Brienne thought it the worst luck imaginable as Jaime hovered over her to read the script. 'Unattractive yet distinctive' was what they were looking for in Helen Oath, but sitting next to Jaime Lannister, she was positive she'd blown past that by a wide margin. 

Nobody wanted to be compared to an actual bona fide model, but for one such as Brienne, it was the cruelest punishment conceivable.

The plump actress with the kind face who'd been seated on the other side of Brienne in the waiting room would be a better fit. She'd oozed femininity and sweetness which would blend with Jaime's rugged cynicism better. Now that she thought of it, they probably wanted a softer, more vulnerable Helen than she could deliver.

In her escalating panic, Brienne flubbed a few of her lines, but then Jaime pulled her in with his taunting eyes. Established eye contact and wouldn't let go. 

He was a natural, effortlessly tapping into Arthur's disillusionment with ease. 

Brienne played Helen as resolute, determined, if a bit hurt by his seeming apathy, but Jaime kept flustering her with the intensity of his gaze even though the script didn't call for such interest on his part. 

Arthur was supposed to be frustrated with Helen, annoyed by her by-the-book mentality, exasperated by her naivete and can-do spirit. Maybe slightly amused, not _intrigued_.

"The kid's dead, Rook," he said. You're in the wrong line of work if you can't see that."

"You don't know that, Sergeant. Maybe _you're_ the one in the wrong line of work...jumping to conclusions like that. You've given up," she replied flatly. "Cynicism isn't wisdom. There is always hope." 

And Arthur was meant to be on the verge of rolling his eyes, per the script, but instead Jaime's gaze cut to hers with a bright ferocity that bordered on hunger. 

Catelyn made a considering 'hmmm' sound under her breath that must've been approving because next thing Brienne knew it was announced they'd both advanced to the second round of auditions.

When Sansa heard, she clapped her hands together in delight, and Jaime winked at her on the way out. 

After they exited the building, the hubbub of the outside world sounded unnaturally loud to Brienne. She tried to get her bearings. Her heart was still racing from the good news.

Jaime extended his hand and she knew it'd be rude to ignore the gesture. She took his hand and shook it once firmly, but he still held on when she made to withdraw.

"It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," she mumbled back.

"It's funny, we haven't technically met yet. Not properly. I'm Jaime." He tipped his chin slightly upward, trying to catch her gaze. But she kept her eyes dutifully trained on a spot over his shoulder. She'd already learned her lesson inside. She wouldn't let him bewitch her again.

She nodded. "Jaime," she repeated tersely.

He cocked a perfectly tweezed brow. "And you are?"

She blinked. "I am..?"

"What, is there an echo out here or something? Your name...what's your name?" he said, his thumb gliding over her knuckles.

Oh. She felt like such a fool. "Brienne." She valiantly resisted the urge to shiver. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Brienne," he repeated back and she could tell from his drawl he was teasing her.

It wasn't the first time nor would it be the last time that someone was scornfully amused by her clumsy, tongue-tied manner and the one-sided conversations that ensued. 

If only she could be given a script for her every interaction in real life in advance, she could rehearse and know exactly what to say on cue. Speaking off the cuff was impossible. Without fail, her mind would go blank and she'd clam up and come across as slow-witted.

She wrenched her hand from his roughly and spun on her heel to go.

He called after her, but she didn't stick around to hear him out. She just fled.


	3. Chapter 3

At the callback, Brienne read lines with multiple actors. Of the entire lot, she'd secretly hoped Renly would nab the lead. 

When she read opposite him at the audition, she'd thought they had a good rapport. He was nice looking and charming, but much less intense than Jaime. He didn't unnerve her to the same degree. 

Renly could be downright endearing. (There was nothing endearing about Jaime Lannister.)

Renly made her go a bit pink in the cheeks, but that just meant there was more of a hero-worshiping angle to her performance. Besides, Brienne reasoned, shouldn't Helen want to impress her new partner?

Whereas with Jaime, there was more friction, more sharp edges and uncertainty and some indefinable tension Brienne couldn't put her finger on. 

Ultimately, the Greyjoys' vision for their titular hero aligned with Jaime's grittier take on the character. Based on their previous body of work, she'd have been shocked if they _hadn't_ preferred his brooding, tortured, flawed version of Arthur Keeper to Renly's low-key, amiable boy next door persona. 

An aura of violence and danger accompanied the delivery of most of Jaime's lines, making him prime leading man material in their eyes. One order of toxic masculinity to go, please. 

In spite of her misgivings, she could admit Jaime was extremely charismatic and that his performance was compelling. Electric. 

He'd embraced his archetypal character and infused him with life. All the tiny hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end when he squared off against Oberyn in the flashback scene that'd tackle the hero's origin story. 

During the final round of auditions, Jaime blew the competition out of the water, landing the part with ease. Brienne had been less sure of how her own efforts had been received so she was stunned when Olenna informed her she'd won the role of Helen Oath. 

Her agent told her to take the rest of the night off and celebrate. 

Someone else would've popped a bottle of champagne, but there was no one else in her life to share the news with and drinking alone seemed sad. Instead she went about her day, but when her head hit the pillow that night she allowed a small smile to cross her face. 

Shooting the pilot took just under two weeks. It was mentally draining as well as physically grueling, but rewarding all the same. Brienne gave it her all and she could tell everyone else, from the actors to the crew, was just as invested. Just as committed to doing everything within their power to make the show a success. 

Filming Helen's death scene was particularly brutal. 

At the end of the episode it was revealed that the missing girl they'd been searching for had been snatched by the Bloody Mummers who were operating a sex trafficking ring downtown. 

They'd rescued the girl along with other kidnapped victims from an abandoned warehouse and were in the process of arresting the criminals when the leader brandished a gun he'd kept concealed in his ankle holster and shot Helen fatally in the gut.

Arthur returned fire, killing the mob boss instantly before Helen collapsed and bled out in his arms.

"You're gonna be fine. It's just a graze. You'll continue to be a pain in my ass for many years to come," Arthur said gruffly, applying pressure to the wound.

"Blind optimism isn't wisdom either, Sarge," Helen managed through gritted teeth, though the corner of her mouth curled upward slightly. 

"I'm not giving up on you, Rook."

"My name's..."

"Helen, yes, I know." He'd smoothed her hair back from her face the first take, an improvised caress that the director insisted Jaime keep in for subsequent takes.

They shared one last meaningful look then Helen Oath's lashes fluttered shut, never to reopen again.

The scene hadn't gone to plan at all. Brienne had expected Jaime to hold her like a comrade in arms...in a too-rough manner that was manly and aggressively platonic and could never be construed as romantic. 

Instead he was impossibly gentle and tender. He tugged her half into his lap, one arm around her back holding her upright against his chest while the other pressed against her belly in a futile attempt to stanch the flow of blood. 

He looked at her like...she didn't even know. And he touched her face. 

Well, not her face. Helen's.

It was unsettling. Too intimate by far. She attributed the devastating effect he had on her to his natural magnetism. She dared any other actor to take her place and remain unmoved.

She felt off-kilter after they finished the final take, jerking away from him to try to compose herself. 

Jaime reached out to pat her on the shoulder or shake her hand, she'd never know because she gave him a halting nod then went to gather her stuff and head home. 

Later that night in the privacy of her bedroom she allowed her thoughts to wander and replay the foreign sensation of his arms around her. She hadn't been touched like that in years. 

Not since she hugged her dad goodbye after a holiday visit two years before. Six weeks later he'd had a fatal heart attack at the garage. She'd been on her own ever since.

None of her other roles had called for anyone to touch her with any intent beyond doing her grievous bodily harm. Why would they? Nobody wanted to see that. A huge, ugly girl was the last person an audience wanted to see shown even a shred of affection onscreen.

She shook herself and focused on what must truly be preying on her mind. The loss of Helen. 

Since they filmed out of order, there'd still be a couple other scenes for her to shoot, but Helen Oath had died that day and it only made sense that she couldn't help mourning her. 

* * *

Three months later Keeper was officially greenlit by the network and picked up for a full season, and by some miracle, they wanted Brienne onboard, too. 

Apparently when they screened the pilot, test audiences liked the young detective's plucky spirit and demanded she live and so hallelujah, Helen Oath would be resurrected. The beginning of the second episode would reveal that she'd survived and was on the mend.

Brienne couldn't believe it. She pinched herself, certain she must be dreaming, but Olenna assured her it was all very real and that she needed to meet with her to sign the contract. Brienne's hand was still shaking when she signed on the dotted line hours later. 

Arthur's main love interest, Falyse King, was introduced in the third episode. She was beautiful, vivacious, and cunning. A perfect reflection of Arthur down to the same golden curls and glittering green eyes. They had endgame written all over them.

They'd both come from old money, been childhood sweethearts until fate had cruelly torn them asunder. Almost two decades had passed in the interim. 

Arthur's father had been gravely disappointed when he became a detective instead of earning his MBA and preparing to take over the family business. He'd disinherited him once he realized his son would never assume his rightful place as heir.

"Art imitating life," Jaime had muttered to Brienne under his breath at the table read, insinuating his own father was less than happy about his choice of career in front of the camera. 

Falyse had rebelled in a more extreme way as she came of age. She'd embarked on a double life, playing the part of dutiful daughter by day and savvy con artist by night. She was a bored heiress who was too clever and ambitious to be constrained by her parents' limited view of her potential.

Thrown into the world of high-end art forgery for a case, Arthur was reunited with his lost love. It'd felt like destiny until his suspicions about Falyse's role in the scheme were aroused. In the end, he secured the forgeries, but let Falyse flee into the night. 

Which set the tone for their relationship over the rest of season one. Every few episodes Falyse would reappear on some new thrill-seeking mission, disrupt Arthur's life, and then make her escape, absolutely dripping with stolen jewels.

Cersei Waters was cast as Falyse. She'd just come off the hit, 'Light of the West,' and was considered a big get for the Greyjoys. 

She was...in a word...difficult. A total diva on set, but Brienne tried not to frame it in those terms since she was aware of the misogynistic overtones. Better to describe her bad behavior for what it was than to toss around problematic labels. As Ygritte said, "Don't need to stoop to name-calling to call her out on her shit."

Cersei hurled abuse at members of the cast and crew with impunity. 

Lambasted her castmates for being wooden and not matching her energy, for being 'ungenerous' actors who failed to 'actively listen' when she spoke. (Which was absurd since she was the worst offender when it came to stepping on others' lines.)

Screeched at the gaffer and grips about unflattering lighting. 

Browbeat runners like they were her own personal slaves. 

Accused the makeup artist of amateurish contouring, the hair stylist of purposely removing all body and luster from her tresses, and the wardrobe stylist of choosing cheap frocks Falyse wouldn't be caught dead wearing. 

Cersei was never on time, but always expected everyone else to stay late, demanding they redo takes even after the director had said he was satisfied. 

She trash-talked the writers. Alternated between forgetting her lines and scheming to rewrite the script with her own ideas for dialogue. 

Cersei made no secret of the fact she'd wanted Rhaegar Targaryen for the lead role, not Jaime. 

Even though Cersei hadn't appeared in the pilot, the Greyjoys had already tapped her to play their leading lady so they'd flown her in and had her do a chemistry test with their three remaining actors who were up for the role of Arthur at the time. (Personally, Brienne had found Rhaegar's melancholic portrayal uninspired and a bit of a downer.)

Varys, the director, tried to stroke Cersei's ego by gushing over how aesthetically pleasing the pair of them were together. 

"A lot of shows go for the contrast of the dark hero with the blonde heroine or vice versa," he said, "but this works on a more visceral level. You're a matched set. One glimpse and viewers will believe you belong together."

Bronn snorted. "You're like one of those creepy brother/sister couples. Fuckin' mirror images, you are." Typecast as the loose cannon maverick on the squad who didn't play by the rules and who was constantly teetering on the brink of being suspended, the roguish actor was never afraid to speak his mind.

Cersei studied Jaime with open contempt which he returned with interest, his lip curling derisively. 

"Some mirror! It has a crack in it. A nasty, unsightly crack," she sniped, appraising his scar. "Can't they slather some more makeup on that and cover it up. Concealer is your friend!" she sang loudly enough for everyone on set to hear.

"It's the _only_ friend you have, I'll wager," Bronn retorted just as loudly. 

Several people snickered as Cersei flounced off to her trailer and refused to film for the rest of the day.

The scar was actually central to Arthur's backstory. The in-show explanation for it was nothing so mundane as a motorcycle mishap. No, Arthur had been slashed by the blade of the Red Viper the year before. 

He'd tried to build a case against the notorious gangster by turning his sweet, innocent sister against him, making her see her older brother for the callous criminal he really was. But in doing so, a trigger-happy associate of the family had taken it upon himself to intervene and silence her for good. 

The Red Viper had slit the man's throat and vowed he would get his revenge on the cop who put a target on his sister's back and set everything in motion. But he wanted to draw it out. Make him suffer first. He'd carved up Arthur's face so that he'd never forget that he was marked for death before vanishing into the night. 

His nemesis, played with aplomb by Oberyn Martell, continued to lurk menacingly on the fringes of Keeper's world just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

It was for that reason they shot scenes from that side to ensure his scar was always in the frame. It was a stark reminder of the price Keeper paid, the danger he courted in doing his job and defending the defenseless. 

The actors being at odds didn't stop the Greyjoys from breathlessly promoting the show's much-vaunted love story at every opportunity in the lead-up to the premiere. 

The romance had a little something for everyone, to hear them tell it. Brienne watched Theon expound at length in interview about how the Arthur and Falyse relationship involved "rekindling an old flame and recapturing the lost innocence of youth all while engaged in a precarious cat and mouse game. And to the discerning viewer, we also tease a Beauty and the Beast parallel." 

Was he truly boasting gleefully about ripping off a bunch of tired, formulaic tropes? Secondhand embarrassment had Brienne cringing on his behalf.

The younger Greyjoy visibly warmed to the topic, scooting forward in his chair and growing even more animated. "You see, Keeper is a wounded beast with a jagged scar to show for it who keeps the world at bay and desperately needs his beauty to tame his wild heart." 

"Not to mention to sate those animalistic urges," Euron added, giving a lecherous waggle of the brow and nudging his nephew with his elbow. Brienne turned away with a disgusted sigh.

How daring, she thought. Way to push the envelope. After all, who could ever learn to love a character played by a former underwear model with a rakish scar that only heightened his allure? It'd certainly take a lot of soul-searching for Falyse to fall in love with a 'beast' such as he. What groundbreaking TV!

(It was more of a head-scratcher to her why Arthur kept overlooking Falyse's larcenous, criminal behavior, but that was another story.)

If Jaime Lannister resembled any beast, it was a majestic golden lion who'd maul any who tried to tame him.

He was restless and mercurial on set. Prone to improvisation which unnerved Brienne. There was a reason she liked to have her script on hand. Preparation was key to her performance. Without that guide, she was lost at sea.

Varys told her to just go with the flow as if she were a normal person with normal social skills who'd respond in an organic way to provocation. Mostly she resorted to glaring and scowling at him when he went off script, but the director only looked pleased and said to keep doing whatever it was they were doing. It was monumentally unhelpful advice.

Just as unhelpful as Jaime's advice was a couple weeks later. They'd just finished blocking a big fight sequence when he noted that she moved with purpose as Helen, proud and assertive, with her shoulders back and the erect posture of a soldier, but she hunched in on herself as soon as they called, 'Cut!' 

"Why is that?" he asked. He didn't wait for her to answer. "You shouldn't make yourself small, shouldn't try to disappear so assholes won't spot you. You can't let them win." 

How dare he. She clenched her fist and was so furious she marched off to the restroom to cool down. 

It was rich having a practically perfect specimen who was essentially the ideal embodiment of masculinity, scar and all, chide her for the way she navigated her world. A world in which she couldn't hope to conform to any of the impossible standards society passed down for her sex. A world that seemed to despise her for simply daring to be big and ugly and female.

It was easier when she was Detective Oath. Helen was a kickass cop, smart, strong, and brave. She took up space and didn't take shit from anybody. She was basically Brienne's hero. But she wasn't Brienne. That was the entire appeal of this acting lark.

When she returned from the restroom, Jaime scrambled to his feet. He didn't apologize, but he looked concerned and was solicitous toward her the rest of the day. 

As they left the studio that night, he looped his fingers around her wrist, reeling her in so they were nose to nose. "Just...just point out the assholes to me in the future and I'll take care of them," he said softly. 

When she pointed at him with a quirk of her lips, he released a loud bark of laughter. 

"Fair enough," he said with a chuckle. His thumb skimmed her palm lightly before he pulled away. "See you tomorrow, Rook."


	4. Chapter 4

Things were better between them after that.

They fell into a rhythm, much the same way Arthur and Helen had at the 55th Precinct. Jaime accepted that he had to talk enough for the both of them and he took to his role with gusto. Talking a mile a minute and interpreting her every scowl, glare, shrug, nod, and furrowed brow as he saw fit. 

Although he liked to pretend she enthusiastically agreed with every word he spoke, she could tell he soon became fluent in her body language. Somehow they began having entire conversations that didn't require much beyond the tilt of her head or the tapping of her foot for him to sense her state of mind. Sometimes she'd repeat a word he'd spoken and he could tell just from her inflection exactly why she'd found fault in his logic.

Brienne gradually warmed to Ygritte and Jon, too, who played their sidekicks on the force. The 'B' team to Helen and Arthur's 'A' team. 

They were sort of the reverse of Jaime and herself. Jon was a man of few words while Ygritte was an extrovert who let everyone know in no uncertain terms where they stood with her. They were nice enough, though. Always tried to make her feel included without putting her on the spot. Brienne hadn't had much experience with that kind of easy, undemanding companionship in her life. 

Arya had also become something of a friend of hers. The casting director, Catelyn, had finagled her youngest daughter a job on the set as a runner. The headstrong girl could be quite helpful if she liked you, as she did Brienne, and quite unhelpful if you crossed her, as was the case with Cersei. Rumor was Cersei had tried to get her fired, but the Starks were an institution in the industry and the higher-ups refused to follow through.

Brienne hadn't known what to make of Stannis, the middle-aged man who played their boss, Captain Ahai. He was a method actor so who was to say how much of his aloof, stuffy pomposity was him and how much was his character Azor seeping into his personality?

At the other end of the spectrum was Oberyn who was the antithesis of standoffish...sit-on-ish? He flirted with Brienne whenever their paths crossed. She knew he didn't mean anything by it. He never singled her out to humiliate her. It was just his nature. He was as big of a flirt as Arthur Keeper was. Besides, she was pretty sure he was involved with Ellaria, one of the makeup artists, anyway.

That didn't stop her from blushing, however, when he turned the full force of his charm on her and it didn't stop Jaime from bristling at the mere sight of him. Varys suggested he channel that rage into his performance, let it fuel the antagonism between the archenemies. Jaime flipped him off.

They were still in the midst of filming when the series premiered to decent ratings. Brienne didn't tune in. While she loved to act, to swap lives and immerse herself in another world, she never wanted to see the finished product. 

She'd never be able to act again if she saw what other people saw. And now, all her flaws must be even more glaring in high definition, working opposite Jaime Lannister. 

A couple familiar faces joined them on set during the last batch of episodes. 

First up was Lysa Tully...soon-to-be Lysa Baelish, as she kept smugly reminding them, flashing her engagement ring at any who ventured near.

Brienne had never met her before, but she felt like she knew Lysa from some of the horror stories Jaime told her. Evidently, their families had tried to set them up when they were teens. Jaime hadn't been interested, but Lysa hadn't taken no for an answer. She'd fixated on him for a solid month. He'd had to get a new phone and change his route before she finally moved on to her next victim. 

Jaime said he didn't believe in coincidences and was inclined to think Catelyn was messing with him by casting her loathsome sister for a small role on his show. 

The episode in question featured a murder at a country club. Lysa had been hired to play a snooty heiress who was married to the prime suspect. 

"What a stretch," Jaime had remarked to Brienne sarcastically. "At least it'll be a nice rehearsal for the real thing. Help her perfect her feigned innocence! betrayal! total and complete lack of complicity! before Petyr inevitably goes down for that pyramid scheme of his." 

On a whim, Arthur decided to take a dip in the Olympic-size swimming pool at the club, weaponizing his not insignificant physical attributes to loosen the heiress' lips. 

After a few laps and some witty poolside repartee, he pulled himself out and shook his head, sending droplets of water far and wide. The camera lovingly panned up his glistening body, lingering on his v shaped torso, his shredded six-pack abs and pecs. There was a flash of white teeth as he slowly turned to the gawking heiress like a shark who smelled blood in the water.

Helen studiously averted her gaze, used to her partner's slutty, unorthodox interrogation methods by now. When the heiress spilled the beans about her husband's infidelity right on cue, Helen didn't need to glance over to picture the victorious jut of Arthur's chin. 

Between takes, Brienne couldn't help noticing how Lysa wouldn't stop overtly ogling Jaime. It made her angry on his behalf. Lysa's character was supposed to have fallen under Arthur's spell, but when the camera wasn't rolling she had no business eyeing him like a piece of meat. 

Brienne procured a terry cloth robe so he could cover up between takes. Jaime looked startled when she handed it to him, but then he gave her an appreciative, eye-crinkling smile that warmed her from the inside out.

The second familiar face was Renly who'd signed on to play a ghost from Helen's past. Lieutenant Stag Stormlander, one of her favorite instructors from the academy whom she'd idolized. (Seriously though, what kind of a stripper name was Stag Stormlander?) 

It was a couple notes in the script that gave Brienne her first inkling that Helen was meant to be straight. 

Or bi...well, probably not bi. The last time the Greyjoys featured a bisexual character in one of their productions, the casting breakdown had called for a hot, sexy nympho. They hadn't actually used the word 'nympho,' but it'd been strongly implied. The point was Brienne was clearly nowhere near the ballpark of hot enough to rate as bi, in their books. So straight, it was.

They threw in some backstory about Helen having pined for the affable, handsome Lieutenant Stormlander. It was all very offhand and casual as if they hadn't just dropped a bombshell on her. 

Up until then, Brienne had just assumed Helen was the butch sidekick with a heart of gold whose main purpose was to serve as the moral compass for the cishet hero. 

Even if the script had never explicitly stated Helen was lesbian, everything supported that reading. From her character's gender non-conforming looks, size, and interests to the conspicuous lack of romantic status ever mentioned onscreen. 

Brienne, more than anyone, was intimately aware you could be a woman who was big and unfeminine-looking, not possess a romantic past, and still identify as any number of sexual orientations. But she was no stranger to gay coding, and she'd doubted the Greyjoys could parse the nuances of anything more complex than broad stereotypes. 

Even now she was sure Helen had just been slotted into the thankless category of undesirable heterosexual female characters who had a habit of falling for pretty, unattainable men and who were therefore doomed to remain celibate and unloved forevermore. 

She wouldn't be shocked if soon there'd be notes in future scripts suggesting Helen was harboring unrequited feelings for Arthur. Perish the thought. 

After Brienne recovered from her character's very own sexual orientation reveal party - Congrats! Helen Oath is straight! - she moved onto the postscript which had her seeing red - And BTW we plan to use her sexual orientation as a plot device to make her an easy mark. Bc thirsty women folk are so easily duped, amirite? 

The plot was really as maddening as that.

Arthur and Helen were working a case that involved unmasking agents from a terrorist organization called Shadow. Stag inserted himself into the investigation, playing on Helen's feelings for him to get inside info on the case. 

What Helen didn't know was that Stormlander was a dirty cop who was in the cabal's pocket. When Arthur's suspicions about Stag being bankrolled by Shadow turned out to be true, Helen was devastated and felt like a fool. Which she kind of was, thanks to some undeniably lazy writing. 

Acting with Renly again was an eye-opening experience for Brienne. It didn't take long to realize his charm was only skin-deep. 

He made a few jabs about Jaime 'stealing' the part of Keeper out from under him. "Maybe if I smashed up my face I'd have a plum role land in my lap, too," he joked to Brienne between takes. She found she didn't like him so much after that.

She'd initially worried that her attraction toward Renly might hamper her performance, but instead it was just the opposite. She'd had to set her personal distaste for the actor aside and put herself squarely in Helen's shoes, let herself love Stag for the honorable, brave man Helen believed him to be. 

Late in the episode Stag predictably saw the light. He called Helen and begged her to meet him so he could divulge everything he knew about the clandestine organization. But by the time she and Arthur arrived, he was already dead, his throat slit by Shadow.

Arthur gently suggested that Captain Ahai need never know the full truth about Stag's treasonous crimes. A cover up didn't sit well with Helen, but she couldn't bear to have his good name maligned or his family put through the wringer.

"Sometimes doing what's right isn't so black and white," Arthur had said. "Sometimes you have to wade into the grays to find a choice you can live with."

The final scene was of Arthur and Helen at Stag's gravesite. Brienne had never had to cry on cue before, but she found the tears came all too easily. 

She'd bottled up her feelings all her life, so much so that she could almost believe a cork flew off in that moment, flooding her with an ocean's worth of sorrow. 

She grasped her dad's dog tags that she always wore around her neck, tangling her fingers in the chain. It was the one personal item Walda, the wardrobe stylist, allowed since she deemed it fitting for her character. 

Her face was all splotchy and her voice became wet and choked, but the director gave her the thumbs-up. The scene concluded with Arthur putting his arm around Helen and leading her back to their car. 

After a particularly wrenching take, Jaime's arm tightened around her and he told Varys to give them a minute. He led her to the far edge of the cemetery and his arm stayed wrapped around her shoulders as they just stood facing away from the crew and breathing. Her chin wobbled as Jaime tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Better?" he finally asked and she sniffled one last time, wiped her cheeks with a shaky hand, and nodded. She really, really was.


	5. Chapter 5

According to Ygritte, the ratings were holding steady as the season progressed, but Keeper was still on the bubble in terms of being renewed. It could go either way. 

With each passing day, Brienne found herself hoping more and more that this wouldn't be the end for the show. Yes, there was some sketchy plotting at times, but the bones of the story were good. There was potential here, she could feel it.

More importantly, she loved Helen Oath as if she were a sister. A big sister who knew just what to say, what to do, in all situations. She was smart and brave and kind. Everything Brienne wished she could be. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to her. 

Or to Jaime.

Or Ygritte and Jon, Arya and Bronn, Oberyn and Varys. Ellaria in makeup. Walda in wardrobe. Sandor, the surly stunt-coordinator. Even Stannis she would miss terribly. 

Cersei was a different kettle of fish.

The season finale ended with an explosive showdown between Arthur and the Red Viper wherein the hero ultimately triumphed and took his enemy into custody. You could be sure the dastardly rake would still be scheming next season, though, pulling the strings from behind bars, counting down the days until his inevitable prison break. In the event the network gods smiled on them, that is.

But the real fireworks happened offscreen between Jaime and Cersei. Brienne wasn't present for the altercation, but Arya was and she repeated what went down word for word with relish. The girl had quite the flair for the dramatic and Brienne mused that she should probably look into a career in acting herself.

In the finale Arthur and Falyse were reunited and she insisted she was done with juggling dual identities. Her alter ego's illicit extracurricular hobbies no longer gave her the same rush they once did, not when compared with the thrill of coming home to Arthur each night. 

What should've been a sweet, harmonious scene quickly morphed into a screaming match.

Cersei kept accusing Jaime of half-assing his scenes with her and sandbagging their romance. 

"Stop dicking around," she'd spat. "Arthur's meant to be deliriously fucking happy, not enduring a root canal. You've been playing fast and loose with the script from the very beginning. Mooning over every other cunt who strolled through the show, including Detective Cow Eyes, instead of committing to what's on the page." 

"You're not giving me much to work with," he'd snapped. "What could Arthur possibly see in Falyse? She's fickle and vain and doesn't give a shit about anyone other than herself!" 

"Well, what does Falyse see in _him_? Why would she give up her high-flying life of travel and adventure, excitement and intrigue, to settle down with some boring, _scarred_ cop?" She'd taken off her stiletto heels and lobbed them at Jaime who ducked just in time. All of this culminated in Cersei threatening to walk. "Good luck getting a second season without me!"

"Who needs you? The show's called _Keeper_ , remember?" he'd said pointedly and she'd hissed and stormed off.

They were all relieved when Cersei decided to take a pass on attending the wrap party at the local bar. They'd had enough of her drama to last them a lifetime. 

It was Sevenmas Eve so most of the cast and crew hit the road so they could reunite with their loved ones for the holiday. Before heading to the airport, the Greyjoys proposed a toast on set, thanking them all for their hard work and promising to pick up the tab at the bar for those who wanted to keep the party going. A handful of them took them up on their offer. 

Brienne tried to back out of going, but Jaime and Ygritte insisted. According to them, she needed to mark the occasion. "You put your heart and soul into Keeper and deserve to properly cap off the first season with a little celebration. We all do," Jaime wheedled, persuasive as only he could be.

Even Stannis agreed to tag along to the bar, crisply informing them that it was his duty as Captain to eat, drink, and be merry with his subordinates. (What would it take for him to break character? Filming for season one had wrapped and they might not even get a second season. She'd thought he'd at least drop the act over the hiatus.) 

The upshot was Brienne had no chance, and no choice. She couldn't afford to be shown up by stick-in-the-mud Stannis/Azor Ahai. She'd never live it down.

She'd thought the bar would be dead because of the holiday, but it was hopping when they got there. Brimming with a crowd of rowdy customers that made her instinctively hunch in on herself. She could barely hear herself think over the din. 

Jaime ushered her over to a table and pulled out her chair for her. Her eyes darted to him suspiciously, waiting for the punch line, but he just gestured for her to sit.

Not much of a drinker, she ordered a non-alcoholic mulled cider. 

She began to relax after a little while. Jaime sat beside her with his hand resting on the back of her chair. They took turns playing darts and pool...both of which she excelled at. Her father had carted her around to enough sports bars when she was young that she'd picked up a thing or two.

She should've known things were about to go south. In her life she was only ever allotted a brief tour of happiness before misery yanked her back to its craggy shores.

It'd been her turn to get everyone another round and when she went up to the bar, several faces swiveled her way. She'd been recognized a few times since Keeper began airing, but one glance in their direction established these weren't casual fans of the show. No, these were her childhood tormentors. 

Ronnet Connington. Hyle Hunt. Owen Inchfield. Ben Bushy. Ed Ambrose. 

Her stomach churned and she felt her chest tighten.

"Hey Jumbo!" Ronnet called out, swaggering up behind her. 

"I told you it was her!" Hyle boasted to his buddies. And just like always, he spoke in the same jovial tone that sounded so mild and harmless that if you were a bystander, you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd been friends once. 

That was how he'd tricked her all those years before. He'd never sneered or let his voice turn ugly like the others even when he showed his true colors at long last and was mocking her to her face.

They clustered around her in a half-circle that kicked up her claustrophobia.

"If it isn't the elephant who's scared of her own shadow." That was Owen. "And squeaks like a mouse." That was Ed. Both charmers. The pair of them were still finishing each other's assholish thoughts as if no time had passed at all. 

She went stock-still the way she always had when they hassled her. As if they were T-Rexes who could only spot their prey if she moved. Of course, it didn't work like that in real life. Her paralysis merely allowed them to trap her in one place and fling vile filth at her without interruption.

She kept staring straight ahead, hoping the bartender would come take her order and create a diversion so she could somehow unstick her feet from the floor and have an excuse to slip away. But he was swamped at the other end of the bar, too harried to notice her plight. 

"Are you deaf as well as mute?" Ronnet snarled.

Ed and Owen were suddenly jostled as Jaime pushed through the throng to come stand at her side. "Problem, gentlemen?" 

This was excruciating. As bad as any onslaught of verbal abuse could be, the shame of someone witnessing what was going on was infinitely worse. They could never quite mask their disdain for her cowardice. 

_Why don't you stand up for yourself?_ she'd see the question burning in their eyes time and time again. And that it was Jaime filled her with self-loathing. If he hadn't already guessed, he'd now know for certain that the only thing Helen Oath and Brienne Tarth had in common was an unfortunate reflection. 

"Nah, we were just getting reacquainted." Ronnet's smarmy voice made Brienne want to take a shower. "Haven't seen each other in forever."

"It's a bit of a high school reunion," Ben added, always eager to back up Ronnet.

"Is that so?" You'd have to be an idiot not to retreat immediately at the predatory glint in Jaime's eye. But as luck would have it, these jerks were idiots without exception.

"You're that guy, aren't you? Jimmy Lancaster, right?" Hyle asked, and a muscle in Jaime's jaw twitched, letting her know he recognized the dig for what it was. Hyle's innocent act didn't fool him in the least. "My kid sister has a poster of you in a gold lamé thong on her wall!"

Ronnet's gaze traveled the length of Jaime's scar. "Must've been before he had his face all marked up." 

"How much they pay you to strip?" Ben appeared genuinely curious as if modeling might be a career opportunity he should explore himself. 

"A fuck of a lot more than the average bimbo gets working the pole, I bet," Ed said with a guffaw.

"So...are you here... _together?_ " Hyle asked, his flinty gaze darting from Jaime to her, and his buddies all hooted.

Brienne registered the change in Jaime's posture. He'd shifted his weight and was primed to launch himself at them. That wouldn't do. She let her hand graze his. And when he turned to her, she shook her head. 

_They're not worth it_ , she tried to say with her eyes.

"Don't tell us Jumbo is off the market. We missed out on our chance, fellas. And here we've been pining away for her all this time," Owen jeered.

Jaime smiled that leonine smile that signaled Arthur Keeper was about to lose his shit and lay waste to everyone in sight. But getting into a fight was bad press. He couldn't risk his future on her. Brienne pushed in front of him.

Ronnet looked her full in the face and grimaced. "You must be really hard up, man, to stoop so low." He glanced over her shoulder at Jaime. "A little old to be a gigolo, though, aren't you? But I guess once your money-maker was ruined you had to resort to desperate measures. And it's kind of a lateral move...You must be used to whoring yourself out to make bank by now."

Brienne's fist shot out so quickly she coldcocked Ronnet before she even knew what'd happened. He crumpled at her feet and she gaped at the unconscious heap of him in utter shock. 

She could scarcely believe it. She may have played many a brute onscreen, but she'd never been violent a day in her life. She'd always stuffed her rage way down deep when provoked. 

Ronnet only had himself to blame. If he'd just stuck to mocking her, she probably would've kept her pacifist streak alive. But he'd gone after Jaime, been so disparaging toward him, that she'd snapped.

"Seven hells! Always knew you were fucked in the head!" Ed shouted at Brienne.

With a savage growl, Jaime slammed his elbow into his face then spun to grapple with Ben. 

Pacifism had never been Jaime's style. And it wasn't hers tonight either. 

Blood pounded in her ears as Brienne punched the false sincerity off Hyle's smug face like she'd always wanted to do before zeroing in on Owen.

Unfortunately, her bullies had brought backup. Several other guys Brienne didn't recognize who'd been seated at a nearby table suddenly advanced. 

It was understandable from their perspective. One of their friends was out cold on the floor, two were clutching their bloody noses, one was dangling from Brienne's grip mid-air, and yet another Jaime had in a headlock. 

Brienne let go of Owen who fell onto his backside. She braced herself to take them all on at once to spare Jaime their fists and fury.

But then Bronn was there. And Oberyn and Ellaria. Jon and Ygritte. Arya and Sandor. Even Stannis left the relative safety of the table to join the brawl, albeit with the air of the long-suffering Captain he pretended to be. 

He bellowed orders to the rest of them as if he had some special strategy that'd see them triumph. In spite of the orders their fearless leader kept issuing, it swiftly devolved into a free-for-all. With random carousers who had no personal stake in the fight jumping at the chance to join in the mayhem.

Bronn was in his element. He kept laughing maniacally as he thrashed yet another opponent, appearing for all the world like he was having the time of his life. He spat out a big glob of blood and then gave a battle cry as he slammed into a stocky man, hauling him off his feet.

Jon, on the other hand, looked like he took no pleasure in it, but that he'd do what must be done. Dutiful to the last.

Ygritte fell somewhere between the two extremes. She was highly amused, however, each time one of the brawlers suddenly noticed she was a slender, attractive woman and kind of froze as if unsure how to proceed. She always made them pay for their lapse in concentration. 

On one such occasion, Brienne was close enough to hear her whisper, "Ever been kissed by fire?" right before employing a palm heel strike that broke the guy's nose.

Ellaria stood on a bar stool and wielded her feminine wiles (mostly her shapely legs, impressive cleavage, and winning smile) to stun the enemy so Oberyn could dart in and strike them down with one perfectly aimed blow. When one of the dummies got too close, she dealt him a brutal kick to the genitals.

Arya and Sandor were a formidable fighting duo. He went high while she went low. Sandor knocked out teeth the moment before Arya cut their legs out from under them, methodically mowing them down in great swaths. 

They were almost as in sync as Jaime and Brienne were as they moved in tandem to fend off their attackers. It felt like dancing, fluid and effortless. As if every step and movement was familiar, practiced. Choreography she knew by heart. 

It was the strangest thing, but she felt almost graceful in this. When, mid-commotion, Jaime slanted a crooked grin her way and shouted, "This, this is who we are!" she couldn't help agreeing.

The 55th Precinct prevailed. 

Brienne had the privilege of seeing the bullies who used to make her cry on a daily basis bruised and battered and sniveling. They ran away from her as if the Stranger himself were after them.

The horrified look on Ronnet's face as he came to and staggered out of the bar would forever be burned on her brain. Just as she knew Jaime wouldn't soon forget the look on Hyle's as he grabbed him in a chokehold and snarled, "Jimmy Lancaster sends his regards!" before head-butting him.

Their group was a bit worse for wear, but they'd merely suffered superficial injuries. Nothing that the higher-ups should get worked up about. No one had lost a limb. If they were lucky enough to get a second season, their cuts and bruises would've faded long before filming began. 

After throwing obscene amounts of money at the bar owner to cover damages and helping sweep up the glass and right toppled stools, they were permitted to share another round of drinks (or three) to toast their victory. Then Brienne made sure everyone was safely headed home with a sober driver behind the wheel. 

When only she and Jaime remained on the street corner beneath an expanse of diamond-studded sky, he shuffled his feet and confessed he didn't want to go home. It was after midnight which meant it was Sevenmas and he didn't want to be alone. And could he come back to hers? 

Jaime had a shiner and was slurring his words slightly. She took pity on him and dragged him home so he could crash on her couch.

As they entered her apartment, Jaime brightened. "You kicked ass tonight! The way you decked those white-bread dickheads then shook that scrawny punk like a ragdoll until he _yelped_...You did Helen Oath proud!"

It had been viciously satisfying walloping both Ronnet and Hyle and lifting Owen off his feet so he dangled in front of her, scared shitless. They'd always loomed so large in her memories, but tonight they'd been cut down to size. 

All the lights were off in her place except for the soft glow from a solitary lamp. Silvery moonlight also streamed in through the window. She exhaled and it was like the vise that was always around her throat loosened. "Arthur Keeper would've approved of your uppercut," she said. 

It was gratifying the way he rocked back on his heels at the first full sentence she'd ever uttered in his presence that wasn't scripted or an echo of his.

"Am I hallucinating or did you just say a bunch of words in a row that no one told you to?"

"You're not hallucinating." She liberated the sheets and blanket from the hall closet and brought the bundle over to the couch for him.

"Is it because I'm drunk? You think I won't remember tomorrow."

"I hope you won't," she said honestly. She went to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of frozen peas for his eye, wrapping it in a damp towel. 

A cursory glance in the mirror on the way back proved she didn't have a scratch on her. Her knuckles were swollen, but that was all. 

"Sit with me for a bit?" he asked as he took the peas from her. His expression was so hopeful that she couldn't deny him.

No sooner had she sat on the couch cushion than Jaime curled up beside her and plopped his head in her lap. She half-heartedly tried to get him to move, but he wouldn't budge. When she insisted he put the peas on his face, he waved her off.

"My money-maker's already busted, remember? Why worry about a black eye? Can't make it any worse."

She wanted to shake him. "Stop it. Your face isn't your money-maker. And even if it were, you'd still be filthy rich."

It was the truth. The gall of him trying to play the woe is me card when sculptors could only dream of creating a statue as magnificent as his likeness. The moonlight pouring into the room didn't lie. He was still preternaturally gorgeous just as she was still ugly as sin. 

She honestly hadn't realized until that very moment that his scar actually _bothered_ him on some level. He was so handsome and confident, it'd never occurred to her that he saw his scar as anything other than a badge of honor. A rugged embellishment that only added to his mystique, as Catelyn had put it. 

His mouth twisted wryly. "My brother didn't care for my self-pity either. We'd always been close, but after the accident...Tyrion was sympathetic for a while, but eventually he got fed up with my attitude. He was born with dwarfism and well, you can understand why he'd not look too kindly on my wallowing. He railed against me, said so what if I had a scar on my cheek? I was still 6'2", able-bodied, and had every advantage. He said I could just visit a plastic surgeon and do away with it if it bothered me so much. He said he could never do the same. We haven't spoken since."

He rubbed his cheek on her thigh then stared up at her thoughtfully. "I planned to do it, you know. Go under the knife. I had an appointment scheduled and everything. My modeling career would've been over if I didn't. But the day before I was meant to go in, you bumped into me on the street. You were in such a hurry you didn't even glance twice at me. I thought I knew you, but couldn't place from where. So I followed you into that audition to figure it out. And then everything snowballed from there, and the rest, as they say, is history. Because of you, this whole new life unfurled in front of me. And it's better than anything that came before."

She bit her lip. "What Catelyn said at that first audition was correct. You'll go further in acting with the scar than without. It's very...becoming." She blushed and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled up at her. "And more to the point, you're good at what you do. Talented. You're a natural when it comes to acting. I wouldn't be surprised if this show's just a pit stop on your way to movie stardom."

For once he seemed to be the one whose words were stuck in his throat. She picked up the peas herself and he shut his eyes so she could apply the cold compress.

When his breathing evened out and she thought he was asleep, she gently stroked his scar from his temple to his jaw. On her second pass, he encircled her wrist with care and tugged so he could softly kiss the pads of her fingers. 

She froze, her heartbeat stuttering. She resisted the urge to snatch her hand back as he twined his fingers through hers and drifted off to sleep, holding her hand against his chest.

_I see you, you see me_ , she thought, as the rhythm of her breath synced up with his, slow and steady.

Brienne had been alone for so long. She was used to it, resigned to it. Even when her dad was still alive...he'd been her dad. Not a friend. 

But she hadn't been alone tonight. 

Those bullies had always picked on her because of her freakishness, but also because her isolation made her vulnerable. But she wasn't that same girl anymore. She had friends. And perhaps more importantly, she could be a friend to other people, too. She'd defended Jaime just as fervently as he'd defended her. 

She thought Helen _would_ have been proud of her that night. Very proud indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

Brienne made her escape in the wee hours of the morning, sliding out from under Jaime and pulling the blanket up over him before retiring to her bedroom. She slept for a couple hours and then woke feeling refreshed. 

She washed her face and brushed her teeth. Got dressed and was on her way to the kitchen to make coffee when she remembered Jaime had crashed on her couch. Tiptoeing down the hallway, she saw he was still snoozing away with only the top of his tousled golden head peeking out from the blanket. 

She desperately scanned her surroundings, trying to see her place from his perspective. What hadn't mattered last night was suddenly thrown into sharp relief in the cold light of day. 

Things like her festive tree boasting no presents beneath it, the damning lack of holiday cards or framed pictures on the wall. (She'd taken down pictures of her dad after he died. It'd been too painful to look upon them.) The dearth of knickknacks spoke volumes.

There was no way to mask the sheer loneliness on display. With one glance, he'd know just how sad and small her life was. Not that it'd come as any great shock to him.

She needed him out and luckily had the perfect excuse. She put on a pot of coffee, drank a cup then poured one for him. 

Her boots clunkity-clunked across the hardwood. It did the trick. Jaime stirred beneath the blanket and stretched before hauling himself up into a seated position. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked at her drowsily. 

"Why are you up at..." he paused to glance at the clock on the wall, "7 am on the first day we've had off in months?" 

Even hungover he was a sight for sore eyes. Rumpled and sleep-warm from cocooning in a thick blanket, he looked utterly touchable. From the endearing flush on his face to the languidness of his movements, he emanated a toasty coziness that called to Brienne. 

The shiner only added to his devil-may-care charm and fuck if his stubbled jawline didn't glint in the sunlight. To complicate matters further, his gravelly morning rasp was possibly the sexiest sound known to man. She handed him his cup of coffee then turned away and muttered, "Have to go."

"Me? You? Both of us?"

"Both."

He chuckled. When she turned to face him again, he drank a sip of his coffee before peering at her over the rim of his cup. "Nice try. Care to elaborate? Sorry to disappoint you, but I remember last night. The jig is up. I know you can use your words."

It wasn't as easy as it was in the moonlight. The words lodged in her throat. "I volunteer at an animal shelter," she managed through gritted teeth, her voice unnaturally loud as she tried to muscle through her discomfort. "It's closed today, but the animals still need to be looked after and the guy who runs it is out of town."

Pod was visiting family for the holiday as were the bulk of his employees so he'd given her the keys so she could check in on everyone while he was gone. She'd take the morning shift while Peck took the evening. 

She'd been volunteering at Best of the Beast for over a year now. Aside from acting, tending to abandoned pets and helping them find new homes was her main source of comfort and joy. She'd always preferred the company of furry and feathery companions to humans...or at least she had, until recently.

Jaime made a considering noise, finished his coffee then used the bathroom. If he judged her for her decor or lack thereof he didn't let on. They rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence and when they emerged on the street and got into her car, she fiddled nervously with her seatbelt. "Where am I taking you?"

He squinted at her. "To the shelter, where else? I thought I'd tag along."

"Why?" It came out more hostile than she intended.

He seemed bound and determined to take her prickliness in stride, however. "I told you last night. It's Sevenmas. I have no plans so let's do this. C'mon, don't make me beg."

She remembered him saying he didn't want to be alone today so she put the key in the ignition and decided not to make a big deal of it. A gentle warmth bloomed in her chest that she'd have company today, too.

They were greeted with enthusiastic tail wags from Bruno, the husky mix, and Sarah, the terrier, the only canines currently on site.

Occupancy was low right now, a quarter the normal number of animals usually housed at the shelter at any given time. There'd been a pre-holiday surge of visitors. 

Pod vetted everyone properly. Laid down the law and made each prospective owner sign a contract swearing the pets wouldn't be given as gifts. But it was undeniable that a certain generosity of spirit around this time of year ensured a greater number of pets found their forever homes just before Sevenmas. 

Jaime gave Bruno a scritch behind the ears before Brienne took the dogs outside for a potty break then got them their breakfast. When she returned, it was to find Jaime making conversation with the parrots.

"The things I do for love," Jaime said to the blue-and-yellow macaw. It'd been the tagline that always accompanied his Kingslayer cologne ads.

"Do for love," Longclaw echoed.

Jaime slanted her a sly grin. "Cynicism isn't wisdom," he said in his best impression of Helen Oath, unbearably earnest.

Longclaw repeated a garbled, "Wisdom," but thankfully, without the attitude.

Jaime gestured at the macaw aptly parroting his words. "Are you _sure_ you're not related?"

She'd have bristled if the smile on his face had been mocking. But instead it'd been impossibly fond. Besides, she herself had previously found humor in their propensity for mimicry mirroring her own.

She ducked her head and gestured to Brightroar meaningfully, a preening cockatoo whose headcrest had gone vertical, excited as he was to suddenly be the center of attention. He reminded her of a certain other show-off she knew. "Sure _you're_ not related?" 

Jaime laughed and puffed out his own chest. "Well, birds of a feather, flock together."

After replacing the liner of the cages and supplying fresh food and water for the birds, she checked in on the feline population. As expected, the kitties were still sound asleep in their cat condos, but she scooped the litter and replenished their food and water as well. Experience had taught her that they would stir in another hour or two.

It gave them time to take the dogs for a proper walk. It was chilly, but sunny outside.

Jaime was mindful to keep to a slower pace because of the terrier's short legs. The sight of him meandering along with Sarah at his ankles made Brienne grin so wide her cheeks hurt. 

When he saw her loony grin, he smiled. It wasn't a toothy one like hers, it was softer. Sweeter. Twice as blinding as staring into the sun. She was glad for Bruno tugging at the lead so she had a convenient excuse to turn away. 

When they arrived at the off-leash dog park it was mostly empty. Brienne and Jaime traded off throwing the tennis ball she'd brought along for Bruno to fetch. Sarah preferred to play tug-of-war so whoever wasn't lobbing the tennis ball fought with her over the plush wiener dog toy. A good time was had by all, she thought. 

"Not a bad way to spend Sevenmas, is it?" Jaime said with dancing eyes.

A lump formed in her throat and she shook her head. In truth, this already ranked in her top five, no question.

Bruno was older so his energy began to flag soon enough. And Sarah had intermittent bursts of energy that left her tuckered out not too long after. When they returned to the shelter and the dogs settled in for a snooze, Brienne led Jaime to the cat sanctuary area of the facility. 

Sure enough, the kitties had begun to stir one by one. There were eight in all. Half gravitated to their food dishes while the other half leisurely came forward to say hello. Brienne hoped all the purrs and meows didn't go to Jaime's head. 

"What's this one's story?" Jaime asked as he scritched the chin of a red tabby who only had three legs and was rubbing up against him.

"Oh, he's new." She found that her words came more easily when seated on the rug with Jaime and surrounded by cats. This was her turf, her home away from home. "Pod - he's the one in charge here - told me we had two brand new guests this week. Two males. The one who's rubbing up against you was recently released from the veterinary hospital. He's a stray who was hit by a car. They patched him up and sent him our way after he was fully recovered." 

She searched Jaime's face for any hint of discomfort, but he seemed unconcerned about the loss of limb, petting the cat all over as it purred loudly. "It looks worse than it is. People often get sad or worried," or disgusted, she didn't say, "when they see an animal missing a limb, but almost always they'll be fine. They adjust quickly and can go on to lead long, happy lives. This cat is around two or three years old, they think, so he could have another couple decades in him if he's lucky."

"And that one," she pointed at the other newcomer, a dark gray cat with startling blue eyes who'd eaten hurriedly and then slunk back to his cubby, "was apparently dumped in our waiting room." 

At Jaime's furious expression, she nodded. "Yeah, sometimes that happens. But it's better they drop their pets here if they can no longer take care of them than the alternative."

"So they don't have names yet then?" Jaime asked as the tabby made himself at home in his lap and he rubbed his thumb over the bridge of the cat's nose .

"Not yet. Pod usually has the honor of naming our guests that didn't have some form of identification on them when they arrived. But of course, whatever new family they go to generally ends up choosing a different name anyway."

Brienne collected the cat toys and spread them out over the floor of the sanctuary. 

Feather toys, crinkle toys, catnip toys. Mice in various colors, springs and fluffy balls, birds and fish at the end of dangling wands.

The three-way nylon tunnel was always a big hit.

The red tabby batted at a catnip banana, but otherwise stayed put. He'd claimed Jaime's lap for his own and refused to budge. 

It took over an hour, but the gray cat finally ventured closer to them.

Darker fur ringed one eye and Brienne hid a smile as Jaime made note of it. "I can relate," he said quite seriously, pointing to his own black eye.

The cat opened his mouth to meow, but not a sound came out. " _I_ can relate to that," she informed the cat just as seriously, and Jaime chuckled.

"Wary, yet brave," Jaime pronounced as the gray cat let him pet him once before darting behind Brienne's back. 

There was a faintly blue tinge to his coat that only accentuated his beautiful eyes. He shouldn't have any trouble attracting a new family. 

Although, Pod thought he was older - maybe 15 or so - and wariness was all fine and good (and justified after having been abandoned so recently) until it came time to be adopted. 

People always gravitated toward the more outgoing, friendlier pets. And the younger, the better, seemed to be an unspoken belief shared by the majority of prospective pet owners.

Brienne frowned as the gray cat brushed up against her side before circling behind Jaime after accomplishing that daring feat.

As if reading her thoughts, Jaime cleared his throat. "Think they'll have trouble finding a home?" He looked from the tabby in his lap to the gray with worried eyes.

Brienne shrugged unhappily. It all depended on if the youth and friendliness of the tabby was enough to offset his physical imperfection. And if the conventional beauty of the gray was enough to offset his advanced age and distrusting manner.

Jaime squared his shoulders, one hand resting proprietarily over the back of the tabby. "I want them," he said firmly.

"What?" She scared the gray away with the boom of her voice. He didn't go far though, just crouched behind a cat-friendly potted plant.

"I want to adopt them. I'll take good care of them, I promise. Give them a long, happy life, as you said."

"It's a nice thought, Jaime, but the day to day reality of owning a pet, let alone two, is not just giving and receiving snuggles. Cats are mischievous by nature. They get in the way, knock stuff over, cover you in fur, and claw up your furniture. You have to remember to feed them and scoop the litters, groom them and take them in for regular check-ups at the vet." 

He wouldn't be the first who was lured in by the sweetness of a pet's disposition only to balk at all the responsibilities that went along with pet ownership. Jaime had a big heart, but he was also impulsive and she didn't want him to make a decision on a whim and then regret it later. It wouldn't be fair to either cat or to Jaime himself.

"I know what I'm getting myself into. Tyrion got a cat when he went away to college and it was a terror. It crapped in his shoes and liked to tip over any glass of liquid it could find. I think all that only made Tyrion respect the cat more. It was a proper Lannister."

She'd heard a lot of stories like that over the years and they always rubbed her the wrong way.

"Some folks think of cats as solitary creatures. As low maintenance and less needy than a dog," she said carefully. "They take pride in their cats being independent and a bit of an asshole because they think it lets them off the hook. They don't have to feel guilty if they work late or go on vacation for a few weeks and only have someone pop over to put down some food. But the truth is cats can live twice as long as dogs and some aren't content to just be given a scratching post and a couple of toys and to be left to their own devices."

He cocked his head and she could tell he was listening so she continued. "When I was a kid we had a family cat. She followed me from room to room. Just Maid...JM, for short. She slept with me every night and when I got home from school each day, she'd climb into my lap not two seconds later."

Jaime smiled slowly. "JM had great taste. After last night I have it on good authority that your lap is prime real estate." 

She cursed him for making her blush. "The point is she was the opposite of solitary. She'd have been miserable in a family that was gone all the time."

"Well, you don't know this about me, but I'm a bit of a homebody. When I'm not at work, I'm usually there. And it'd be nice to have someone to come home to."

The suggestive way he said that last bit only made her blush intensify from pink to scarlet.

He took pity on her and dialed it down a notch. "Do you have a cat? I didn't see one this morning. Was he hiding from me?"

"No."

"Why not? You're obviously a cat person," he said, gesturing to the way she stroked the gray cat from head to tail who'd finally decided it was safe enough to venture close again. It was more of a fleeting graze than a proper stroke with her palm barely skimming his back, but she was still proud she'd earned enough trust for that.

"My place doesn't allow it." She'd begged via email and even written out a script for herself so she could try to make her case over the phone in the hopes her landlord would take her more seriously that way. She'd argued as persuasively as she knew how, promising she'd pay an up-front pet deposit to cover any potential damages caused by her cat, but he refused to be swayed.

"Ah, and of course, you're as much a stickler for the rules as Helen Oath," he drawled, and his gentle teasing made her stomach swoop. "Well, you can come visit these scamps any time you want if you give me your stamp of approval."

Brienne glanced from one cat to the other. "We don't even know if they'd get along. Some cats need to be in a house without other pets." 

Then, as if to spite her, the gray cat chose that precise moment to curl up with the red tabby in Jaime's lap. For the tabby's part, he stretched and then moved to rest his chin on top of the gray's shoulder.

Jaime beamed. "You see? They chose me. Come on, Brienne. It's meant to be. The tabby was disfigured in an accident just like I was. And the gray has a black eye just like I do. What are the odds? They clearly belong with me. I could be persuaded to let you take the gray on account of your eyes matching his, but since you took yourself out of the running, I demand custody of both. You can have visitation rights."

When Brienne continued to look uncertain, Jaime straightened in a haughty way she'd seen more than once while filming. "Do you have the authority to grant my application or will I need to go over your head?" he said in his best, most obnoxious 'let me speak to your manager' voice.

Brienne glared at him and he smiled sweetly.

"As it so happens," she huffed, "I do have the authority to approve an adoption." 

She got up and retrieved the paperwork from the file cabinet. She returned and plunked the clipboard in front of him. He had to fill his application out with his arm splayed funny so as not to disturb the cats perched in his lap. He signed the contract with a flourish then got his wallet out to pay the fee.

"Now, as for their names, I've already had a brain wave. Meet Goldenpaw the Lionheart." He bent over them and the red tabby batted his golden locks in approval. "And Blue." The gray's snore seemed to signal acceptance.

"Just Blue?"

"Ser Blue the Blue Cat," Jaime said with the solemnity usually reserved for announcing the arrival of a celebrated dignitary at some posh event. 

And that was that. The matter was settled.

When Peck arrived to take over his shift for the evening, Brienne couldn't believe the day had passed so quickly. 

Jaime struggled with saying goodbye to the cats, but she reminded him he'd be picking them up tomorrow. There was a mandatory 24 hour wait period each new adoptive parent had to undergo to give them time to reconsider. 

She wished she could say she'd been unaffected herself as she petted Goldenpaw and Blue one last time before leaving. It just was a genuinely lovely feeling every time a pet that'd been abandoned and oftentimes mistreated in some way found a warm, safe, loving person to call their own. That was all.

On their way out the door, Jaime bade farewell to Longclaw and Brightroar. 

"See you later," he called and the parrots instantly responded. Salutations had been one of the first things Pod had practiced with them when they arrived. "Not if I see you first!" they chorused. Jaime laughed all the way to the car.

They stopped off at a greasy spoon for dinner and as they were waiting for their order, Jaime casually suggested they exchange numbers.

When she goggled at him, he shook his head. "Don't look so scandalized. Fuck, you'd think I suggested we dance naked under the full moon. Or skinny-dip in the hot springs up the road under a canopy of evergreens." 

The very thought scalded her. A tiny gasp escaped her before she shut her mouth with an audible click.

Jaime fiddled with his napkin and sighed. "Look, we've spent most of the last six months attached at the hip on set. We beat the shit out of those creeps last night as if we'd blocked the scene in advance. We were _that_ fucking flawless. I slept on your couch, we spent Sevenmas together, and you just introduced me to the newest members of my family...I think we qualify as friends, don't you?"

Brienne didn't trust her voice to speak without betraying her so she just nodded brusquely then slid her phone across to him. He gave an approving hum as he entered his digits. 

When she dropped him off at his high-rise apartment, he asked if she'd go with him to get all the stuff he'd need from the pet store tomorrow and she agreed. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before going. "Merry Sevenmas, Brienne."

It was as if a starburst flared in her heart, lighting her up from within. She drove home, but was so discombobulated she didn't remember how she'd gotten there once she pulled into her parking spot.

Later that night he texted her, letting her know he'd reached out to Tyrion and that he'd responded. His little brother had snarked that he hoped his new cats pissed all over his designer clothing. It was a start, he said.

The next day she was true to her word and helped Jaime go shopping and lug all the cat paraphernalia up to his place and set it up. 

His penthouse was easily three times the size of Brienne's apartment with expensive leather furniture and stainless steel top-of-the-line everything in the kitchen, not to mention a sweeping panoramic view of the city. 

The perks of having been one of the world's most successful male models for nearly two decades, she supposed. Not that his salary for starring in Keeper was chickenfeed exactly. 

Like Brienne, he didn't seem to have any knickknacks or personal items on display. But when the pizza guy knocked and Jaime went to get the door, she noticed a lone picture tucked in the corner of his bookcase. 

It'd been taken a couple months ago on the set of Keeper. They'd just wrapped for the day.

Their squad had attended a ceremony honoring Captain Ahai in that episode so they'd still been decked out in full dress uniform when Ygritte got out her phone and demanded they crowd in around her. 

Bronn and Jon had taken the chairs on either side of her while Stannis loomed over them, appearing appropriately solemn with the medal his character had been awarded gleaming around his neck. (What did she want to bet wardrobe never got that medal back?)

Jaime had tugged Brienne in close so they were in the frame behind Bronn. He'd slung his arm around her shoulders, but at the last minute he'd given her bunny ears, of course. 

She heard the front door shut and jerked away from the bookcase, trying to look like she hadn't been snooping when he returned.

After they polished off the pizza, he insisted she tag along with him to pick up the cats and bring them home. Brienne didn't know who was more excited - Jaime or the cats - when he released them from their carriers and they were zipping around their new lodgings, exploring their expansive cat condo and multitude of toys.

When Brienne left his place late that night it was to the sight of Jaime sprawled out on the floor with Goldenpaw curled up on his chest, purring against his neck, and Blue draped across his belly. And she knew she needn't have worried. Everything was going to work out. 

Soon the Lannister cats would be so spoiled and pampered that their former trials and tribulations would be nothing but a faint memory.

In the weeks that followed, Jaime kept her updated with numerous texts each day, sending her adorable pictures and videos. The cats were practically inseparable, but he said they deigned to let him into their elite clique and show him their secret paw-shake. 

They liked to climb Jaime like a tree, an impulse Brienne understood all too well. They'd taken to each claiming one of Jaime's shoulders then riding around up there like they were king of the world.

It seemed dangerous to Brienne, but both cats and Jaime obviously thought it was the coolest thing ever, based on the identical smug looks on their faces in the selfies. The jaunty position of Blue and Goldenpaw's whiskers said it all.

At Jaime's urging, Brienne visited his place several times a week. They watched movies and played with the cats and talked about things non-show related which was nice because it meant their friendship was bigger than just work. 

She still struggled with speaking sometimes in his presence, but he never made her feel awkward about it and the lack of pressure from him and judgment went a long way towards unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

After Sevenmas Ygritte had set up a group chat for the bar brawling victors. 

Thanks to Jaime bombarding everyone with feline updates, Jon and Arya learned of the animal shelter Brienne volunteered at and visited Best of the Beast themselves. They ended up adopting Bruno and Sarah, respectively. 

Arya liked the terrier's spunk and said the name 'Sarah' was patronizing and an affront to her scrappiness. Inspired by her razor-sharp teeth, Arya dubbed her Needle instead. 

Jon merely added an honorific to the husky's name. Prince Bruno. Jaime claimed he was just trying to one-up Ser Blue.

Sandor surprised them all by offering his services to Jon and Arya. Apparently, he was a certified dog-walker between projects.

Ygritte kept them up to date on the latest gossip. She had her finger on the pulse of the goings-on behind the scenes at Keeper. Unlike Jon Snow, she said, who knew nothing. 

Varys had let slip to her that it was looking like Cersei was out and Margaery Tyrell might be in. The actress was in talks with the Greyjoys to step into Cersei's heels when she left. 

Brienne knew Margaery. She was Olenna's beloved granddaughter who'd already made a name for herself overseas on the theater stage. Brienne hoped it panned out because without a bankable love interest the show would probably be dead in the water and wouldn't have a chance in hell of renewal.

It was during one such hush-hush tête-à-tête between Ygritte and Varys that he, too, became aware of the string of recent pet adoptions within their circle. It turned out he was an avid ornithologist and wouldn't stop rhapsodizing about his little birds. Ygritte had directed him Brienne's way and by the end of the week, he'd added Brightroar and Longclaw to his flock.

Pod was overjoyed and Jaime joked that Brienne should consider working on commission. She was six for six. 

It was one month to the day after Sevenmas that Brienne got the call. 

An emergency meeting had been scheduled at her earliest convenience. Olenna wanted to deliver the news in person which meant it could only be really good news or really bad. As soon as she was led into the office, one glance at her agent was all it took to confirm it was the former.

Olenna looked like the cat that swallowed the canary as she told Brienne that they'd clinched their renewal. And not only that, but the Greyjoys were planning to revamp the show and wanted to extend Brienne's contract. Lock her down for four more seasons. 

Yara Greyjoy would also be joining her brother and uncle at the helm for season two which Olenna thought was a godsend since she might be able to wrangle her useless, testosterone-fueled relatives and breathe new life into the show. 

"That woman has her head screwed on straight," she said. "She's the only Greyjoy worth a damn. She'll do right by us, I think."

Brienne was already vibrating with shock and dizzy delight at the news when Olenna threw her for another loop. 

She informed her they'd decided to change the title of the show from Keeper to Oathkeeper and were going to pivot to center the show around the relationship between Arthur and Helen.

There was precedent for it, Olenna explained. Lots of shows took a season or two to find their footing. 

The limited series Ser Duncan the Tall had been critically acclaimed, but never found commercial success. Then after a little retooling, the spin-off Tales of Dunk and Egg took off like a rocket and became a ratings juggernaut. 

"So you mean we're going to pivot to a buddy cop show?" she asked, mystified. 

"No, my dear girl," Olenna said with a tinkling laugh. When she finished explaining everything in full, the very last thing Brienne felt like doing was laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

When Jaime buzzed her up he sounded surprised, yet pleased that she'd popped by unannounced. He didn't know she was a volcano ready to blow.

He opened the door with a greeting on his lips only to falter when Brienne barreled past him. "How could you?" she spat, roiling with fury.

He blinked. "How could I what?"

"Oathkeeper."

He smiled broadly. His smile dimmed as she continued to scowl at him. "I thought you'd be happy. What actress wouldn't jump at the chance to be upgraded to the leading lady? To have her character's name in the title?"

He really didn't get it. She crossed her arms. "You never even broached the subject with me. We've only been talking every day now for _weeks_ and you never said a word." 

She'd never spoken with such rapidity in her life, but her anger overrode all else. The betrayal at finding out about this huge upheaval for the show from her agent instead of him burned. 

"You never thought to ask me if that'd be something I'd want. The additional scrutiny and the pressure of trying to help you carry the show. If we do this and the show fails, I'll get to feel responsible for letting the cast and crew down. Why go behind my back and do all this maneuvering without even asking if I'd be up for it first?"

The cats peered at them from their condo, but stayed put, likely spooked by the way she'd raised her voice and the tension simmering between the two humans.

"If I'd brought it to you first, you'd have brushed it off. Said not to bother. That it was impossible and they'd never go for it in a million years. But they did! They loved the concept!"

Ah, yes, his revolutionary concept. She could only imagine the conversation that took place amongst the trio as Jaime pitched his reverse Beauty and the Beast idea to the showrunners. 

"Hear me out, but what if Helen was the true beauty all along...not Falyse," Jaime would've posited. At their blank looks, he'd have been forced to elaborate at length. And when that didn't work, he'd have had to cut to the chase and explain baldly, "I'm talking about inner beauty."

"So you're both...both then," Theon would've surmised, always the brighter of the Greyjoy men.

"Both what?" Euron would've grunted.

"Don't you see, Arthur's hot on the outside. Helen's hot on the inside," Theon would've mused aloud. "He has that scar and a nasty temper, she has that monstrous face and bod. They're both the beauty and both the beast. And the upshot is that Arthur becomes less dickish because of her inner hotness."

"Whoa, you've just blown my mind! What a great gotcha moment! The audience will never see it coming!" Euron would've crowed. "And the critics who bleated we were deep as a puddle will have to eat their words. That's right, eat shit, losers! Eat it up with a spoon...'cause spoiler alert: the kraken is a creature of the deep, motherfucker! Prepare to be deep-throated into submission you whiny little bitches!"

"It'll totally subvert expectations!" Theon would've declared before taking credit for the idea himself.

It was so demeaning. She didn't want Helen to be the moral of the story, a plot twist, or worse, a joke. 

She'd played a hideous cave-dwelling troll before, but it hurt her terribly that Jaime had pitched a storyline that labeled her 'beast.' 

Brienne knew his heart was in the right place, his intentions honorable, and the idea was innovative, to be sure, but no one wanted to watch an outwardly beastly girl find love on TV. Especially when there was no makeover in the offing. 

No glasses to be taken off. No braces conveniently removed. No little black dress that'd reveal she was secretly curvy when you peeled back the bulky layers of her uniform. 

No magical transformation at the end where her inner beauty extended to her outer in a dazzling display of vindication.

But she couldn't say any of that to him so instead she tried a different tack. "The audience will think we pulled a bait and switch, luring them in with the beautiful Falyse only to replace her with _this_ ," she said, gesturing to her face.

Jaime furrowed his brow. "Have you even looked at any of the reviews or fan response since the show began airing?"

She hadn't. She'd learned her lesson after playing a werewolf in a direct-to-video fantasy flick last year. Someone had typed: 'Woof, that dog's even uglier in the daylight. At least covered in fur w/ fangs and claws she's bangable if ur monsterfucker or furry.' Over a hundred people had already liked the tweet when she stumbled upon it. She'd sworn off all internet commentary on her work after that.

He sighed heavily and whipped out his phone. "The audience hated Falyse. Fans refer to her and Arthur's romance as Fart, okay? That's how much it tanked." His thumbs flew across the screen and then he shoved his phone at her. "Want to know what they call us? Heart. The 'he' is from Helen and the 'art' is from Arthur, get it? Personally, I prefer Oathkeeper, but I've learned to stay in my lane. Take a look."

She scrolled past a flurry of 'Heart' gifs from the show with hashtags that made her blush. She was bowled over by messages of support for Helen Oath, analyses about her character's backstory, her motivations, and her burgeoning feelings for her partner. 

"You call renaming the show staying in your own lane?" Brienne asked, clawing for some semblance of levity. "Wasn't that your way of winning the argument, proving your smooshed name was better than theirs?"

Jaime laughed. "Well. When you put it like that, it sounds petty... spiteful. But I'm right...Oathkeeper has a certain ring to it and is loads more original than Heart! Anyway, that's why the Greyjoys went for it. The audience took to you in a big way. People root for us. They think our chemistry is insane."

The image of two handcuffs entwined in the shape of a heart brought her up short. Several fans were using it as their twitter profile picture. There'd been a woman in the grocery store just last month who'd pointed at her own t-shirt which had the same design on it before grinning at Brienne and flashing her a thumbs-up.

"But why?" she said, at a loss. "I know Arthur's a shameless flirt, even with Helen, and he comes to trust her and respect her, but how could they ever think someone like him would ever seriously be into someone like her for real?"

Jaime had the strangest expression on his face. It wasn't pity which was good because she didn't think she could bear that. But he looked almost...wounded. He drummed his fingers against his thigh restlessly. "Did they ever tell you why they changed their mind after the pilot and Helen lived?"

"Olenna said the test audience liked Helen's pluck."

"They did. They also liked our banter and push-pull dynamic. But what really won them over was when they watched Helen die in Arthur's arms. They all said that Arthur looked down at Helen with such love in his eyes, they couldn't believe she was actually dead. They kept asking if she was really gone since they didn't see how the show could continue without her. They'd decided the show was about _us_ , not me without you. 

"I tried to tell Euron and Theon the same way back when we were filming the pilot, argued our characters had something special and they should reconsider, but I was just some dumb ex-model. They wouldn't listen to me, but they listened to audience feedback. I'm not being benevolent by proposing a romance between our characters. And the Greyjoys sure as shit aren't being benevolent in revamping the show. The series wasn't going to be renewed if we kept to the old formula. It was stale and boring as fuck. _You_ are our secret weapon."

Brienne was floored. It felt like her entire world had been plunged into darkness and she was lost without a compass, fumbling for a match, a candle, a star to light her way. But then a beacon blazed to life, burning as brightly as any sun, to guide her home. Jaime. 

He took a step closer and there was a twinkle in his eye that could only spell trouble. "And furthermore, I play Arthur so I can categorically tell you that Arthur is into Helen like whoa. He has been since Day One. Just as I, Jaime, have been into you, Brienne, just as long."

Her chin trembled when he reached out to touch her cheek softly.

"You're a better actor than me. I'm not always sure what you're thinking. Or feeling." He let his hand drop back to his side. "If the idea of kissing me repulses you, don't worry, there won't be a kiss for seasons to come. They'll want to milk this will-they-or-won't-they angle for all it's worth. This'll be the mother of all slow-burns. They'll draw it out for fucking ever, but the payoff, when it comes, will blow our fans away. So what do you say?"

Brienne considered everything that had led her to this moment. 

All the crushing disappointments and loneliness and fear that dominated her adolescence and early adulthood. 

All the ups and downs of the past year. 

The 16 hour workdays. The stressful last minute script revisions. The bone-deep exhaustion, tension headaches, and sore muscles. The frustration that welled up whenever she flubbed a scene. The jubilance that buoyed her when she nailed it. 

The sharpness of Jaime's tongue. The sweetness of his smile. The quicksilver changes of his moods. The solidity of his arm around her as she wept in a cemetery. 

The teasing gleam in his eye that challenged her to be braver, to trust in him and the others who'd earned her friendship. To trust that she didn't have to vanish in plain sight as soon as the camera stopped rolling. To trust that her very existence would be welcomed instead of met with scorn.

Sevenmas Eve. Sevenmas Day. 

Dancing their way through a bar brawl, gracefully violent and violently graceful. Tracing his moonlit scar and having him kiss the pads of her fingers, the apple of her cheek in return. 

Goldenpaw the Lionheart and Ser Blue the Blue Cat. 

Jaime chauffeuring them around his apartment on his shoulders as if they were feline royalty. The pair of them cuddling with the cats as they watched movies late at night. Brienne scritching under their chins while Jaime rubbed their bellies and accepted head-butts as his due. 

Oathkeeper.

Jaime had gone to the creators and lobbied to change the series' focus and title to feature her character. She'd been too busy being angry to properly take it in until now. It was a lot.

No one had ever fought for her before. Not like that. Not just helping her confront her childhood demons. Not just at her place of work, demanding her boss value her more and promote her. Jaime had taken something that was his and fought for her to take half because he believed they were more than the sum of their parts. 

Words stung the tip of her tongue and she let them take flight.

"You're right, Helen and Arthur's first kiss is probably years off. But if you're up for it, we could start rehearsing now. You know how I like to be prepared..."

Jaime beamed and cupped the nape of her neck. "Well, they do say practice makes perfect," he said before leaning in to claim her lips.

* * *

"It's about to start," Brienne called and Jaime returned with the popcorn. He settled beside her on the couch and gathered her close. Blue immediately draped himself over Jaime's left shoulder as Goldenpaw kneaded Brienne's thigh, purring so loudly that they had to turn up the volume. 

The season finale was airing tonight. They hadn't done any reshoots, but they'd rearranged the order of the scenes so the last one would be Arthur and Helen's instead of Arthur and Falyse's to set up for season two.

When the show picked up next fall, there'd be a time jump. It'd be revealed that Falyse, bored of the straight and narrow, fled in the middle of the night, drawn back to her old life of high-stakes trickery. 

Her real life counterpart had also landed on her feet and been cast in a new historical series, 'Queen Dowager.' That is, until Bronn leaked a video he'd sneakily taken on his phone of Cersei having one of her epic tantrums on the set of Keeper and laying into everyone in sight using particularly colorful language. Subsequently, the producers decided to go in a different direction and cast Margaery Tyrell instead.

After reading all those supportive comments online about her performance, Brienne had finally mustered the courage to catch up on the first season with Jaime in preparation for the finale tonight. 

Watching herself act was still a bit disorienting, but everything she loved about Helen was there on the screen. She was brave and resourceful and tenacious. If she just focused on what Helen said and did, she found it was easier not to pick apart her appearance. 

It was a process, but at least she was trying to challenge her ingrained biases and incessant self-criticism. 

Seeing Jaime play Arthur onscreen was a revelation. She'd always known he flirted outrageously when he was opposite her, (early on, she'd thought he did it just to mess with her), but she hadn't realized just how obvious he was. And how much flirtier he was with her than with any of the other guest stars whose characters Arthur was meant to seduce into confessing all. 

Without fail, he dialed it to an 11 during 'Heart' scenes. And Brienne was embarrassed to note that, as Helen, she'd kind of egged him on without knowing it. As frequently as Arthur gave Helen a once-over, Helen repaid the favor. She just always looked exceedingly peeved about it afterward. As if being attracted to him was a fate worse than death. 

In hindsight, she was surprised Varys hadn't intervened to ensure their performance didn't deviate quite so much from the spirit of the script. He could've suggested they tone it down. When she'd said as much to Ygritte, she'd snorted and replied, "He's only been angling for a romance for you two from the very beginning. He told me he knows the real deal when he sees it. He was just waiting for everyone else to wise up!"

She couldn't deny that in all of their scenes together, there was a palpable connection, a chemistry that was unmatched by any other pair onscreen. It made her think that maybe they would be able to pull it off next season, after all.

The finale itself turned out to be a mixed bag.

Jaime gagged during the Arthur and Falyse scenes. Brienne had to admit they were clunky and saccharine. (Falyse felt wildly out of character with her weepy dialogue, for one thing.) But the showdown between Arthur and the Red Viper more than made up for it. Oberyn was so good in that role. 

Even though he was a nefarious villain, he was so charismatic that you couldn't help hoping he'd get away. They'd been told that in addition to Helen's role expanding, the Red Viper would also get more screen time in season two which could only boost the show's ratings.

As the camera panned out on the Red Viper already scheming behind bars, they knew their scene was next. 

"Love you," Jaime said with a kiss to her temple. 

"Love you, too." 

The words came easily after several months of cohabitation. 

The first time he'd said the words, she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom and inexplicably cried. The second time, she'd buried her face in his neck and barely managed to rasp the words against his skin. But now, it was just part of their daily vocabulary, an irrefutable truth. 

Both an echo and a reflection that provided clarity, purpose. _This, this is who we are. I see you, you see me._ A validation that was a gift instead of a curse. 

Originally, the final scene between Jaime and Brienne had Arthur walking in on Helen as she was changing at the station. She was supposed to be in just her sports bra and boyshorts.

Brienne had balked at the very idea, scrambling madly to figure out a way to make it bearable for herself...Maybe she could insist on a closed set and Jaime would return the favor and keep a robe on hand so she could cover up between takes? 

But it hadn't come to that. Olenna had put her foot down and they'd modified the setup so it'd be less revealing. 

The scene was altered so that they were at the station late at night doing paperwork when Helen reached to get a file and her shirt rode up, exposing the scar from the bullet wound she'd suffered in the pilot. 

Even just the notion of her bare stomach being shown on TV had been terrifying and felt genuinely scandalous to Brienne. But she kept reminding herself she wasn't Brienne. She was Helen. 

And Helen was fit and strong and unashamed of her own body. In fact, she took pride in it. Her impressive height and breadth and strength allowed her to do her job at the highest level. 

As Arthur's gaze snagged on Helen's scar onscreen, Jaime curled his hand around hers. Brienne laced their fingers together and gave an answering squeeze.

"Does it still bother you?" Arthur asked.

Helen tugged the hem of her shirt back down. "Only before it rains." 

He nodded to himself the way he did when he was mulling something over. "We've come a long way since then."

"Some of us more than others," she replied archly.

He huffed a laugh. "I'm glad you came into my life, Rook."

"Same here, Sarge."

He idly tapped his pen against the desk as he tilted his head, letting his gaze trace her features. "I was right."

"What about?"

"You'll continue to be a pain in my ass for many years to come."

She grew serious, swallowed hard. "You never gave up on me," she said, her voice scraped raw with emotion.

"Never." He flashed her a megawatt smile. "I'm an oathkeeper." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to the prompt from Zeta_Mei, I was also inspired by the TV show, ER. Julianna Margulies' character Carol Hathaway was supposed to die at the end of the pilot, but test audiences loved her so much (and loved the Doug/Carol chemistry so much) they resurrected her and she ended up becoming one of the main characters of the show.


End file.
